■ '■:.■ i 
 
 ^ 
 
 %Si5l?i^^ 
 
 
IN THE PERMANENT WAY 
 
•The^)<^o 
 
In the 
 Permanent Way 
 
 BY 
 
 FLORA ANNIE STEEL 
 
 AUTHOR OF "on THE FACE OF THE WATERS," ETC. 
 
 ' ' 5 ; > 3 J J ) 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd. 
 
 1897 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
Copyright, 1S97, 
 By the M ACM ill an COMPANY. 
 
 Set up and electrotyped, October, 1897. Reprinted. November, 
 1897. 
 
 J. S. Cashing & Co. - Berwick & Smith 
 Norwood Mass. U.S.A. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Shub'rat 
 
 In the Permanent Way 
 
 On the Second Story . 
 
 Glory - or -Woman 
 
 At the Great Duri?ar 
 
 The Blue-throated God 
 
 A Tourist Ticket 
 
 The King's Well . 
 
 Uma Himavutee 
 
 Young Lochinvar . 
 
 A Bit of Land 
 
 The Sorroavful Hour 
 
 A Danger Signal 
 
 Amor Vincit Omnia 
 
 The Wings of a Dove 
 
 The Swimmers 
 
 The Fakeer's Drum 
 
 At Her Beck and Call 
 
 Music hath Charms 
 
 PAGE 
 1 
 
 34 
 54 
 94 
 113 
 139 
 160 
 193 
 213 
 232 
 251 
 267 
 285 
 305 
 331 
 355 
 370 
 376 
 386 
 
 ^U i U 
 
SHUB'RAT 
 
 The church-gong hung from the level branch of 
 a spreading sirus tree, whence the slight breeze of 
 dawn, rustling the dry pods of a past summer and 
 stirring the large soft puff-blossoms of the present, 
 seemed to gather up a faint whisper and a fainter 
 perfume to be upborne into space — further and 
 further and further — by the swelling sound-waves 
 of the gong as it vibrated to old Deen Mahomed's 
 skilful stroke. 
 
 More like a funeral knell, this, calling the dead 
 to forgetfulness, than a cheerful summons of the 
 living to give thanks for life, for creation and 
 preservation. You could hear each mellow note 
 quiver into silence, before — loud and full with a 
 sort of hollow boom — the great disc of bronze shook 
 once more to its own resounding noise ; seeming in 
 its agitation to feel the strangeness of the task more 
 than the striker; though, to say sooth, few things 
 in earth or heaven were more incongruous than this 
 church chime and the man who rang it. For Deen 
 Mahomed, as his name implies, was of the faith of 
 
 B 1 
 
Islam ; fierce-featured, hawk-eyed, with the nameless 
 look of his race; a look suiting the curved sword 
 he wore, in virtue of his office as watchman, better 
 than the brass badge slung over his shoulder pro- 
 claiming him to be a member of the Indian Church 
 Establishment — that alien Church in an alien land. 
 
 And yet the old man's figure fitted close with the 
 building he guarded; for despite the new title of 
 St. John's-in-the-Wilderness, the church remained 
 outwardly what it had been built to be — a Ma- 
 homedan tomb. Its white dome and corner cupolas 
 rose familiarly into the blue sky beyond the sirus 
 trees, where, even at this early hour, a hint of com- 
 ing heat was to be seen in a certain pallidness and 
 hardness. Within, beneath that central dome, en- 
 circled now by pious Christian texts, lay buried a 
 champion of another God, whose name, interlaced 
 into a thousand delicate traceries, still formed the 
 decoration of each architrave, each screen; lay 
 buried, let us hope, beyond sight or sound of what 
 went on above his helplessness. 
 
 How this change had come about is of no moment 
 to the story. Such things have been, nay, are, in 
 India, seeming in truth more fantastic when set 
 down in pen and ink than they do when seen in 
 the warm clasp of that Indian sunlight which shines 
 down indifferently on so many a strange anomaly 
 of caste, and creed, and custom. Most likely when 
 
shub'rat 3 
 
 the wave of evangelical fervour reached the East to 
 prepare the way for the Great Sacrifice of purifica- 
 tion by blood and fire which came to native and 
 alien alike in the horrors and wonders of " Fifty- 
 seven," some pious bureaucrat had felt a certain 
 militant satisfaction in handing over a heathen edi- 
 fice to Christian uses. Such things have their senti- 
 mental side ; and this tomb had been — like many 
 another — Crown property, and so had become ours 
 by right of conquest. No one else, at any rate, had 
 laid claim to it, except, in some vague, mysterious 
 way, old Deen Mahomed, and he only to its guar- 
 dianship as being "the dust of the feet of the 
 descendants of HuzriU-Ameerulla-moomeereen-ulli- 
 Moortdza, the Holy." In other words, an inheritor 
 of the saints in light. 
 
 Now this sort of title is one not likely to find 
 favour in alien eyes. Despite this, Deen Mahomed 
 remained guardian of the Church of St. John's-in- 
 the-Wilderness, thanks to that ineradicable sense 
 — one may almost say common sense — of justice 
 which dies hard in the Englishman of all creeds. 
 The only difference to the old man — at least so 
 the authorities assumed — being that he wore a 
 sword, a badge, chimed the church-gong, and re- 
 ceived the munificent sum of five rupees a month 
 for performing these trivial duties ; which latter fact 
 naturally put the very idea of discontent beyond 
 
4 SHUB HAT 
 
 the pale of practical politics. Apparently Deen Ma- 
 homed was of this opinion also ; at least he never 
 hinted at objection. 
 
 Even now, as he stood unmovable save for one 
 slowly swinging arm, there was neither dislike nor 
 approval on the fierce, yet indifferent face looking 
 out at the white glare of the tomb beyond the sirus 
 shade, at the worshippers — laden with Bibles and 
 Prayer-books — passing up the steps, crossing the 
 plinth and so disappearing within, and at the long 
 line of vehicles — from the Commissioner's barouche 
 to the clerk's palki — seeking the shade to await 
 their owners' return when the service should be 
 over. Not so wearisome a task as might be imag- 
 ined, since the big bazaar was near for refreshment 
 or recreation; so near, in fact, that any solemn 
 pause was apt to give prominence to the twanging 
 of unmentionable sutaras or bursts of unmistakable 
 laughter. For, as ill-luck would have it, not only 
 the bazaar, but the very worst quarter of it, lay 
 just behind the fringe of date palms which gave 
 such local colour to the sketches of the church 
 which the Chaplain's wife drew for their friends at 
 home. And yet, in a way, this close propinquity 
 to the atrocious evils of heathendom had its charm 
 for the little colony of the elect who lived beside 
 the Chaplain. In the still evenings, when the scent 
 of the oranges which were blossoming madly in the 
 
SHUB RAT O 
 
 watered gardens round the houses filled the air, 
 the inhabitants would sit out among the fast-fading 
 English flowers, and shake their heads in sorrowful 
 yet satisfied sympathy with their own position as 
 exiles in that invisible Sodom and Gomorrah. In- 
 visible, because St. John's-in-the-Wilderness rose 
 between them and it, shutting out everything save 
 the impartial sky, whence the sunshine poured down 
 alike on Christian and heathen, just and unjust. 
 Thus the visible church was to them as the invisible 
 one; a veil between them and the people. 
 
 It was a square building recessed and buttressed 
 to a hexagon. The Chaplain, however, preferred 
 to call it a St. Andrew's cross, and perhaps he was 
 right. Perhaps again Deen Mahomed and his cult 
 had really had as little to say to its form as the 
 Chaplain ; such responsibility being reserved to the 
 primeval sraddha, or four-pointed death-offering. 
 Be that as it may, there was a coolness between 
 the new parson and his watchman, owing to the 
 former declaring it to be a scandal that the latter 
 should hold such office in a Christian place of wor- 
 ship, when he was not even an inquirer ! Certainly 
 he was not. He neither inquired of others nor 
 tolerated inquiry from them. He slept on the 
 plinth of nights, chimed the gong by day, and kept 
 the rest of his life to himself. That was all. 
 
 Not one of the congregation filing into the church 
 
6 SHUB RAT 
 
 that morning knew more of him than this. So he 
 stood indifferently waiting for the first note of the 
 harmonium to tell him his task was over; listening 
 for it to pulsate out into the sunshine, and, blend- 
 ing with the last note of the gong, go forth upon 
 the endless waves of ether. Go forth hand-in-hand, 
 plaintiff and defendant ; a quaint couple seeking ex- 
 tinction, or perhaps the Great White Throne against 
 which the ripple of life beats in vain. 
 
 The note came this morning as on other mornings, 
 and Deen Mahomed turned, indifferent as ever, to 
 his house. It was a mud and thatch hovel clinging 
 to one side of a miniature tomb, half in ruins, which 
 some follower of the saint had built within the 
 shadow of his master's grave. It stood just opposite 
 the flight of steps up which a late worshipper or two 
 was hurrying, glad, even at that early hour, to es- 
 cape from the glare of sunlight. Yet on the warm 
 dust before the hovel a child of four or five sat con- 
 tentedly making a garden, while the coachman of a 
 smart barouche and pair drawn up close by looked 
 down with interest on the process. 'Twas God 
 Almighty, says Bacon, who first planted a garden ; 
 but ever since the task has had a strange charm for 
 man, and even Deen Mahomed paused with a smile 
 for the little watered plots and pretended paths. 
 
 " Thou hast encroached on thy neighbour's land 
 to-day, Rahmut," he said, " and gone into the road- 
 
SHUB RAT / 
 
 way. Lo ! the Sirhar will make tliee pay revenue, 
 little robber." 
 
 ''Trust tliem for that," put in the coachman 
 quickly; then he chuckled. "But the boy grows; 
 yea ! he grows to take Ms father's place. ^^ 
 
 The old man frowned, yet laid his hand gently on 
 the child's head, as he said evasively : " Have a care, 
 Rahmut, whilst I am gone, and water thy rose, or 
 'twill die in this heat." 
 
 He pointed to a drooping white rosebud which the 
 little boy had stuck in his centre bed. 
 
 " Ay," replied the coachman, " 'tis hot indeed for 
 the time of year." 
 
 " As hot a SliuhWdt as I remember. God send the 
 night be cool and bring peace." 
 
 " God send it may," echoed the coachman piously, 
 his evil-looking face showing the worse for his 
 unction. " God send all get their deserts on this the 
 great Night of Record." 
 
 He made the remark without a quiver, oblivious, 
 apparently, of a long series of petty thefts against 
 his master's grain, and many another peccadillo of 
 the past year. But then, though every faithful 
 Mahomedan believes that on SJmhWdt God comes to 
 earth with all the saints in glory, there, in the pres- 
 ence of the Dead, to write his Record for the coming 
 year upon the foreheads of the Living, things had a 
 knack of going on after this judgment much as they 
 
8 shub'rat 
 
 did before ; especially in regard to such trivial 
 offences as the theft of grain from a horse. 
 
 "God send they may," re-echoed the old man, 
 suddenly, fiercely. The words seemed to cut like a 
 knife; yet once more he laid his hand upon the 
 child's head almost in caress. 
 
 "Have a care, child, for thy self and thy rose. 
 Thou didst not pick it, sure, from the sahib's garden?" 
 he added hastily. 
 
 Rahmut threw up a handful of dry dust and spread 
 his little skinny arms in gay denial. 
 
 " Lo ! nana ! what a thought ! I begged it of the 
 padre's haba. He comes ever to the assemblage with 
 flowers, and the white mem, his mother, bade him 
 give it to me and that too — she brought it in her 
 bag of books." 
 
 He pointed with pride to some strips of torn white 
 paper stuck in the sand as walls to the garden. 
 Then his tone changed to tears. "Oh, nana! nana! 
 thou hast spoilt it ! — thou hast spoilt it ! " For the 
 old man in sudden fury had swept the remains of 
 the offending tract from their foundations, crushed 
 them to a ball, and flung it across the sunshiny 
 roadway to the plinth, where it skimmed along 
 the smooth surface to roll finally to the very door 
 of the church. 
 
 "No tears, child — no tears, I say," came in a 
 fierce order. " If thou wouldst not have me beat 
 
shub'eat 9 
 
 thee, no tears. Thou shalt not even play with such 
 things, thou shalt not touch them. I, the dust 
 from the feet of the saints, say it." 
 
 So, leaving the child whimpering, he turned to 
 the hovel, muttering to himself. Rujjub, the coach- 
 man, nodded to the next on the rank. 
 
 " The elephant escaped through the door and 
 his tail stuck in the keyhole," he said, with a sneer. 
 " Meean fakeer-ji will not have his grandson touch 
 the Ungeel (Evangel), and chimes the church-gong 
 himself. But, in truth, he loves the old tomb — 
 God smite those who defile it — as he loves the boy. 
 God smite those who sent the boy's father over the 
 Black Water to fight the infidel in China. Lo ! even 
 Jehad (holy war) is accursed with such leaders." 
 
 " Bah ! Rujjub," retorted his fellow cheerfully. 
 " 'Tis so sometimes without fault. ' He climbed 
 the camel to get out of the way, and still the dog 
 bit him,' say the wise. The Meean is half-crazed, 
 all know that. And as for thee I Did thy master 
 pay as fair as mine we should have less zeal from 
 some folk, should we not, brothers? A fist full of 
 rupees brings peace, since there is no clapping with 
 one palm!" 
 
 A chuckle ran round the squatting grooms at 
 this home-thrust at Rujjub the grumbler — Rujjub 
 the agitator. The sweet high voices of English 
 women singing a missionary hymn came floating 
 
10 shub'kat 
 
 out through the open doors. A hovering kite, far 
 in the blue, swooped suddenly, startling the green 
 and gold parrots — inlaid like a mosaic pattern on 
 the white dome — to screaming flight for shelter 
 towards the sirus trees. Little Rahmut, forgetting 
 his tears, built fresh walls of sand to his garden 
 and watered the fading rosebud anew. 
 
 Then a sort of murmurous silence, born of the 
 measured cadence of one voice from within and 
 the lazy, listless gossiping without, settled down 
 over the glare and the shade. Only from the hut 
 came no sound at all. No sound even from the 
 little tomb where the old watchman knelt, his 
 hands on his knees in the attitude of prayer, his 
 keen eyes staring straight into the soft darkness — 
 for the only entrance was so small that the crouch- 
 ing figure blocked out the day. But darkness or 
 light were alike to Deen Mahomed, lost as he was to 
 the present in a dull memory and hope. Perhaps, 
 when, years before, he had first begun to hold his 
 service in defiance of that other worship, he may 
 have put up some definite petition. Now there 
 was none. Only the cry so seldom heard by 
 human ears, yet whose echoes so often resound 
 like thunder through the world — 
 
 How long, O lord ! how long? 
 So he knelt, paralysed by the very perplexity of 
 his own prayer, until a louder burst from the 
 
shub'eat 11 
 
 harmonium and a sudden hubbub among the car- 
 riages warned him that the service was over. He 
 rose indifferently, and came out into the sunlight. 
 It lay now like a yellow glaze over the white 
 stucco of St. John's-in-the-Wilderness, over the 
 gaily dressed congregation hurrying to escape from 
 it in their cool homes, over Rujjub whipping his 
 horses viciously, obedient to a sharp order from 
 the Englishman who had just handed a delicate 
 woman into the carriage, over Rahmut's garden 
 with its white rosebud. And then ! 
 
 The whole thing was past in a moment. A plunge 
 — a swerve ! a little naked imp making a dive before 
 those prancing feet with an eager, childish cry ; then 
 a shriek from the pale-faced lady standing up in the 
 barouche, a small figure, crushed and bleeding, in an 
 old man's arms, and a shout seeming to fill the air. 
 
 "Rahmut! Ah, mercy of the Most High! Jus- 
 tice ! Justice I " 
 
 "Don't look, my dear," said an English voice; 
 "please remember that you — you had better drive 
 home. It was the child's own fault. Doctor, hadn't 
 we better drive home ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes. Drive home, dear lady ! " said another 
 English voice in hurried approach to the scene. 
 "You are not fit. Now then, good people, stand 
 back, please. Carmichael, make those niggers stand 
 back. I must see the boy." 
 
12 shub'rat 
 
 It was easy enough to ensure compliance so far as 
 the pale faces, made paler by shocked sympathy^ 
 went ; easier still to enforce it from the darker ones 
 accustomed to obey orders given in that foreign 
 accent. But how about the old man standing like a 
 stag at bay, clutching the child to his breast, and 
 backing towards his hut with a loud, fierce cry ? 
 
 " Touch him not ! Touch him not ! Touch him 
 not!" 
 
 " We are only driving him crazy," said the Doctor 
 aside, " and I doubt if it is much good. I saw the 
 wheel pass right over the chest. Let him be " 
 
 " But it seems so cruel, so unchristian," protested 
 the Parson. 
 
 The Doctor smiled oddly. 
 
 " That doesn't alter the fact. You're no good 
 here ; no more am I. Here, you chuprassie ! Run 
 like the devil to the dispensary, and tell Faiz Khan 
 he's wanted. If he is out, one of the Mahomedan 
 dressers — a Mahomedan, mind you — and he is to 
 report to me. Come along. Parson. The kindest 
 thing we can do is to go away. It's humiliating, but 
 true." 
 
 Apparently it was so, for a sort of passive resigna- 
 tion came to the straining arms as the dark faces 
 crowded round once more with plain, unhesitating, 
 unvarnished comments. 
 
 " Lo ! he is dead for sure. Well, it is the Lord's 
 
shub'eat 13 
 
 will, and he hath found freedom. See you, he 
 wanted his flower, the foolish one." 
 
 " 'Twas the horses did it," said another. " They 
 are evil-begotten beasts. Rujjub hath said so often." 
 
 *' Ai ! hurrihdt! All things are ill-begotten to one 
 ill-begot, and Rujjub's beasts know he stints their 
 stomachs-full," put in a third. " When I drove 
 them in Tytler sahib's stable they were true born (^.e. 
 gentle) as the saJiih was himself. Then he took 
 pension and went home to Wildi/et, and I have a 
 new master who only keeps ?^ phitto7i (phaeton). It 
 is undignified ; but, there, 'tis fate, nought else." 
 
 But Deen Mahomed, sitting with the dead child in 
 his arms, was not thinking of Rujjub or his horses, 
 of phittons or barouches, not even of chariots of fire 
 — in a way not even of Rahmut himself — but sim- 
 ply of a tract and a child's tears — those last tears 
 which were to be a last memory for ever and ever. 
 Yet even this thought brought no definite emotion, 
 only a dull wonder why such things should be. A 
 wonder so vague, so dull that when Faiz Deen ar- 
 rived to give the verdict of death, the old man, 
 yielding readily to the inevitable, echoed the truism 
 that it was God's will. 
 
 What else, indeed, could it be to the fierce old 
 fanatic with his creed of kismet f 
 
 That same evening he lingered awhile in the big 
 bazaar on his way homewards from the sandy stretch 
 
14 shub'rIt 
 
 of desert land beyond the city walls, where he had 
 left a new anthill of a grave among the cluster be- 
 longing to his people ; lingered not for pleasure but 
 for business, since the events of the day had made 
 it necessary that he should spend yet a few more 
 annas from the five rupees he gained by wearing a 
 sword, a badge, and chiming the church-gong. For 
 it was Shub'i'dt; the night — the one night of all 
 the long year — when the souls of the dead are per- 
 mitted to visit the ancestral home. Therefore little 
 Rahmut, so lately numbered amongst the cloud of 
 witnesses, must not be neglected ; he must find his 
 portion like the others — a Benjamin's portion of 
 good things such as children love. 
 
 It was already dark, but even there in the bazaar 
 the little lamps of the dead shone from many a 
 house, giving an unwonted radiance to the big brass 
 platters of the sweetstuff shop where the old man 
 paused to haggle over full weight and measure ; 
 since even in feasting the dead, the living must 
 look after themselves. A strange sight this. Tlie 
 noisy bazaar, more full of stir than usual, since 
 many a thrifty soul had put off marketing till the 
 last. Overhead, the myriad-hued stars which, in 
 these foggy climes, come back to memory as an in- 
 tegral part of the Indian night, and, beneath them, 
 the little twinkling lamps set out in rows. Thou- 
 sands of them — so much was certain from the pale 
 
shub'rat 15 
 
 suffused light showing like a dim aurora above the 
 piled shadow of the city. On every side the same 
 soft radiance, save towards St. John's-in-the-Wilder- 
 ness rising dark beyond the fringe of palm trees. 
 This Feast of All Souls was not for it, and to the 
 crass ignorance of those who lived in the garden- 
 circled houses behind it the twinkling lights set 
 for the dead were but a sign of some new 
 wickedness in Sodom and Gomorrah, or, at best, 
 of some heathen rite over which to shake the 
 head regretfully. 
 
 So in front of the cavernous shop, visible by the 
 glow, the old watchman fumbled beneath his badge 
 with reluctant hand, for a few pence, listening the 
 while to Rujjub's account of the morning's tragedy 
 given in the balcony above where the latter was 
 lounging away his leisure among heavy perfumes 
 and tinkling jewels. One of the hearers looked 
 down over the wooden railing, and nodded cheer- 
 fully at the chief mourner. 
 
 '' It is God's will, father ; no one was to blame." 
 ''To blame," echoed Rujjub, with a thick laugh, 
 for he was in the first loquacity of semi-intoxication 
 and still full of resentment. " The saJiihs say I was 
 to blame. It is their way. But they will learn 
 better. It is our blame if we do this and that. 
 My brother's blame that he would -not fight over 
 the seas and get killed like Rahmut's father. 
 
16 shub'rIt 
 
 'Tis our blame for everything except for our rupees 
 and our women — the sahibs can stomach them." 
 
 Some one laughed, a gay laugh chiming to tlie 
 tinkle of jewels. 
 
 " Wdh ! thou mayst laugh now, Nargeeza ! " con- 
 tinued the man's voice savagely; "thou knowest 
 not what virtue means " 
 
 " ' Ari^ brother, thou hast a hole in thy tail, said 
 the sieve to the needle,' " quoted the other voice 
 amid a louder titter and tinkle. Rujjub swore 
 under his breath. 
 
 " So be it, sister ! but a day of reckoning will 
 come, and thou be damned for thy dalliance with 
 the infidel. Yea, it will come; it will surely 
 come." 
 
 The words echoed through Deen Mahomed's 
 heart and brain as, leaving the shrill squabble 
 with its running accompaniment of titters and 
 tinkles and broad masculine guffaws behind him, 
 he made his way back to his empty hovel. 
 
 " Yea, it will come ; it will surely come ! " 
 What else was possible Avhen God, a justly of- 
 fended God, was above all? We in the West 
 have not a monopoly in the Tower of Siloam ; 
 that belongs to every religion, to none more right- 
 fully than to the Faith of Islam, which leaves all 
 thinofs in the hand of Providence. 
 
 The belief brought a certain fierce patience to 
 
shub'kat 17 
 
 the old man as he finished his preparations for 
 the ghostly guests who, on that night alone, could 
 partake of the hospitality of the living. The 
 lamps, mere wicks and oil in little shells of baked 
 clay, Avere ready luted to their places by mud, 
 outlining the interior of the tomb where Deen 
 iNlahomed performed all the rites of his religion; 
 outlining it so strangely, that when they were lit, 
 the old man, kneeling before the white cloth spread 
 upon the floor, looked as if prisoned in a cage of 
 light. There was no darkness then, only that soft 
 radiance reflected from the newly whitewashed 
 walls upon that fair white sheet on which, with 
 calm ceremony, he laid the little earthen platters of 
 food one by one, designating their owners by name. 
 
 "This to my grandson, Rahmut, who has found 
 freedom." 
 
 That was the last dedication, and the old voice 
 trembled a little, ever so little, as it went on into 
 the formula of faith in one God, speaking through 
 the mouths of his Prophets. Not one prophet to- 
 night but many, for were they not all on earth — 
 Moses and Elias, Jesus and Mahomed — taking 
 part in the Great Assize where those dead ances- 
 tors would plead for the living who had inherited 
 their sins, their failures? 
 
 Before such a tribunal as that there must be 
 justice — justice for all things just and unjust. 
 
18 shub'rat 
 
 So, half-kneeling, half-sitting, the old Mahome- 
 dan waited for the finger of God to write his fate 
 for the coming year upon his forehead — waited, 
 resting against the wall, for the spirits of the 
 dead to come silently, invisibly, to the feast pre- 
 pared for them. And Rahmut had a Benjamin's 
 portion to console him for those tears — those last 
 tears ! 
 
 II 
 
 The church-gong was chiming again, and again 
 it was ShuhWdt. Not for the first time since Deen 
 Mahomed had put little Rahmut's platter of sweets 
 among the Feast of the Dead, for the years had 
 passed since the child had sat in the sunlight 
 planting gardens. How many the old man did 
 not consider; in point of fact it did not matter 
 to his patience. In the end God's club must fall 
 on the unjust; so much was sure to the eye of 
 faith. Something more also, if the signs of the 
 times spoke true. When the bolt fell it would 
 not be from the blue ; the mutterings of the storm 
 were loud enough, surely, to be heard even by 
 those alien ears. And yet Deen Mahomed, fanatic 
 and church-chimer, standing on that hot summer 
 evening beneath the siriis blossoms smiting the 
 voice from the quavering disc of metal, knew no 
 more than this — that the time was at hand. 
 
shub'rat 19 
 
 Whether it was always so, or whether the great 
 Revolt was always pre-arranged, can scarcely at 
 this distance of time be determined. Certain it is 
 that many, like old Deen Mahomed, were simply 
 waiting ; waiting for the sign of God to slay and 
 spare not. 
 
 Clang ! 
 
 The mellow note went out into the darkening 
 heat ; for the sun was almost at its setting. St. 
 John's-in-the-Wilderness showed all the whiter 
 against the deepening shadows of the sky. 
 
 Clang ! 
 
 Out into the stillness, the silence, as it had gone 
 all these restless, waiting years. 
 
 Clang ! 
 
 Yet again ! How long, O Lord, how long ? 
 eij * * * * * 
 
 God and his Prophet ! what was that ? 
 
 A clamour, and above it — familiar beyond mis- 
 take — one word, '-'-Deen! Been I ''^ (''The Faith! 
 The Faith!") 
 
 Deen ? Yes, Deen Mahomed ! — A hot breath 
 of wind from the east rustled the dry pods and 
 stirred the perfumed puff-blossoms — a scorching 
 wind from the east whirled the clamour and the 
 cry into the old man's ears — through his brain — 
 through his heart. 
 
 ''Been! Been! Been!'' 
 
20 shub'rat 
 
 The disc of metal, unstruck, hung quivering ; 
 slower and slower, fainter and fainter, till, like the 
 breath of one who dies in his sleep, the vibration 
 ceased. But the note went alone into eternity, 
 seeking judgment ; for the harmonium was mute. 
 
 " Been ! Been ! Been ! " 
 
 The cruellest cry that men have made for them- 
 selves ! 
 
 ****** 
 
 It had been long dark ere the old man returned ; 
 to what he scarcely knew. As he stumbled from 
 sheer fatigue on the steps, and sat down to rest a 
 space, he remembered nothing save that the call had 
 come and that he had obeyed it. He had smitten 
 more than metal, and had smitten remorselessly. A 
 terrible figure this ; his old hands trembling with 
 their work ; his fierce old eyes ablaze ; his garments 
 stained and bloody. Beyond the white pile of the 
 tomb the red flare of burning roof trees told their 
 tale, and every now and again an uproarious out- 
 burst of horrid menace, and still more horrid laugh- 
 ter, came to hint that the w^ork was not all complete. 
 Yet overhead the stars shone peacefully as ever; 
 and, above the city, the pale radiance of the death- 
 feasts showed serene. 
 
 The remembrance of the Festival and its duties 
 came to the old man's mind in a great pulse of satis- 
 lied revenge. The tomb was his again ; nay, not his. 
 
shub'rat 21 
 
 but the saints, of whose feet he was the dust ; those 
 saints who would visit the world that night. 
 
 He sat for an instant staring over the way towards 
 his own hovel, then rose slowly, showing in every 
 movement the fatigue of unusual exertion. Well, 
 he had done his part ; he had slain, and spared not 
 at all. The others might linger for the sake of 
 greed; as for him, his work was done. 
 
 With a fierce sigh of relief he turned and limped 
 towards the church. It was darkness itself within 
 the deep doorway; but the lamps were there, and 
 he had flint and steel. So one by one the lights 
 shone out, revealing the sacrilegious accessories of 
 that past worsliip. And yet it was not light enough 
 for SJmFrdt, not even when he had lit the candles 
 on the altar. Still, that was soon remedied. A 
 journey or two backwards and forwards to his own 
 hovel, and a ring of flickering oil cressets encircled 
 the table where it was his turn, at last, to spread 
 the feast of the dead. So large a feast that there 
 was not room enough for all, and he had to set 
 a square of lights round a white cloth laid upon 
 the floor. 
 
 "This to my grandson, Rahmut, on whom be 
 peace for ever and ever." 
 
 That, once more, was the last offering ; and as the 
 old man's voice merged into the sonorous Arabic 
 formula of faith it trembled not at all, but echoed 
 
22 shub'rat 
 
 up into the dome in savage, almost insane triumph 
 and satisfaction. 
 
 This was Shuh'rdt indeed — a Night of Record. 
 And there was room and to spare beneath those 
 architraves, which displayed the Great Name again 
 and again in every scrap of tracery, for all the 
 saints in heaven to stand and judge between him 
 and his forefathers for the sin that had been done, 
 the blood that had been spilt — those forefathers 
 who had ridden through the land with that cry of 
 ''''Deen! DeenT'' on their lips, and had conquered. 
 As they, the descendants, would conquer now I 
 Yea I let them judge ; even Huzrut Isa ^ himself 
 and the blessed Miriam his mother; for there were 
 times when even motherhood must be forgotten. 
 His trembling old hands, strained under the task 
 which will not bear description, rested now on his 
 bent knees ; his head was thrown backward against 
 the lectern on which the Bible lay open at the 
 lesson for the day ; his face, stern even in its satis- 
 faction, gazed at the twinkling death-lights, among 
 which little Rahmut's platter of sweets showed 
 conspicuous. Yea ! let them come and judge ; let 
 them write his fate upon his forehead. 
 
 Fatigue, content, the very religious exaltation 
 raising him above the actual reality of what was, 
 and had been, all conspired to bring about a sort 
 1 Jesus. 
 
shub'kIt 23 
 
 of trance, a paralysis, not of action deferred, as in 
 the past, but of deeds accomplished. And so, after 
 a time, with his head still against the lectern, he 
 slept the sleep of exhaustion. Yet, even in his 
 dreams the old familiar war cry fell more than 
 once, like a sigh, from his lips, 
 ''Been! Been!'' 
 
 A horrible scene, look at it how you will; but, 
 even in its horror, not altogether base. 
 
 From without came a faint recollection of the 
 blood-red glare of fire in the sky, a faint echo of 
 the drunken shouts and beast-like cries of those 
 who had taken advantage of the times to return to 
 their old evil doings. Within, there was nothing 
 save the pale radiance of the twinkling lamps set 
 round the Death-Feast, the old man asleep against 
 the lectern, and silence. 
 
 Until, with a whispering, kissing sound, a child's 
 bare feet fell upon the bare stones — a tiny child, 
 still doubtful of its balance, with golden hair shin- 
 ing in the light. A scarlet flush of sleep showed 
 on its cheeks, a stain of deeper scarlet showed on 
 the little white night-gown it wore. Perhaps it 
 had slept through the horrors of the night, perhaps 
 slept on, even when snatched up by mother or 
 nurse in the last wild flight for safety towards 
 a sanctuary. Who knows? Who will ever know 
 half the story of the great Mutiny? But there it 
 
24 shub'rIt 
 
 was, sleep still lingering in the wide blue eyes 
 attracted by the flickering lights. On and on, un- 
 steadily, it came, past the old man dreaming of 
 Jehdd^ past the lights themselves — happily unhurt 
 — to stretch greedy little hands on Rahmut's 
 sweeties. So, with a crow of delight, playing, 
 sucking, playing, in high havoc upon the fair 
 white cloth. 
 
 ^ ^ yf: yp ^ ^ 
 
 Was it the passing of the spirits coming to judg- 
 ment which set the candle flames on the altar a-sway- 
 ing towards the cressets below them, or was it only 
 the rising breeze of midnight ? Was it the Finger 
 of Fate, or only the fluttering marker hanging from 
 the Bible above which touched the old man's fore- 
 head ? 
 
 Who knows ? Who dares to hazard " Yea " or 
 "Nay" before such a scene as this? Surely, with 
 that blood-red flare in the sky, those blood-red stains 
 on earth, the passion and the pity, the strain and 
 stress of it all need a more impartial judgment than 
 the living can give. So let the child and the old 
 man remain among the lights flickering and flaring 
 before the unseen wind heralding a new day, or the 
 unseen Wisdom beginning a new Future. 
 
 ^ ¥f: ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 Deen Mahomed woke suddenly, the beads of per- 
 spiration on his brow, and looked round him fear- 
 
shub'eat 25 
 
 fully as men do when roused, by God knows what, 
 from a strange dream. Then, to his bewilderment, 
 came a child's laugh. 
 
 Saints in heaven and earth! Was that Rahmut? 
 Had he come back for his own in that guise ? Did 
 the padre-sahihs speak true when they said the angels 
 had golden hair and pale faces ? He crouched for- 
 ward on his hands like a wild beast about to spring, 
 his eyes fixed in a stupid stare. There, within the 
 ring of holy lights, on the fair white cloth, was a 
 child with outstretched hands full of Rahmut's 
 sweets and a little gurgle of delight in the cry which 
 echoed up into the dome. 
 
 " Nanna, dekho ! (see) — dehho^ nanna." 
 
 It was calling to its nurse, not to the old man ; 
 yet, though he had begun to grasp the truth, his 
 heart thrilled strangely to the once familiar sound. 
 
 Ndna ! ^ And it had chosen Rahmut's portion, had 
 claimed the child's place — the child's own place ! 
 
 What was that? A step behind him — a half- 
 drunken laugh — a dull red flash of a sabre which 
 had already done its work — Rujjub, with a savage 
 yell of satisfaction, steering straight as his legs would 
 carry him to a new victim. But he had reckoned 
 without that unseen figure crouching in the shadow 
 by the lectern ; reckoned without the confused clash- 
 ing and clamour of emotion vibrating in the old 
 
 1 Grandfather. 
 
26 shub'rat 
 
 man's bosom beneath the stroke of a strange chance ; 
 reckoned, it may be, without the Fate written upon 
 the high narrow forehead which held its beliefs fast 
 prisoners. 
 
 There was no time for aught save impulse. The 
 devilish face, full of the lust of blood, had passed 
 already. Then came a cry, echoing up into the 
 dome : 
 
 " Been ! Been ! Allah-i-liukk ! " 
 
 The old watchman stood, still with that stupid 
 stare, gazing down at the huddled figure on its face 
 which lay before him, so close that the warm blood 
 gurgling from it horridly already touched his bare 
 feet. 
 
 What had he done? Why had ho done it? To 
 save the child who had claimed the child's place? — 
 To be true ? — Well, it was done ! and those were 
 voices outside — men coming to pillage the church, 
 no doubt — there was silver in the chest, he knew — 
 that^ of course, had been Rujjub's errand, and his 
 comrades would not be far behind — they would find 
 the dying man, and then ? — Yea ! the die was cast, 
 and, after all, it had been Rahmut's platter ! With 
 these thoughts clashing and echoing through heart 
 and soul Deen ]\Iahomed sprang forward, seized the 
 child, stifling its cries with his hand, and disappeared 
 into the darkness. None too soon, for the yell of 
 rage greeting the discovery of the murdered comrade 
 
shub'rat 27 
 
 reached him ere he liad gained the shelter of the 
 trees. Whither now? Not to his house, for they 
 would search there ; search everywhere for those sur- 
 vivors whose work remained as witness to the exist- 
 ence of some foe. Alone he could have faced the 
 pillagers, secure in his past ; but with the child — 
 the child struggling so madly ? And the last time 
 he had held one in his arms it had lain so still. 
 Oh, Rahmut! Rahmut! mercy of the Most High! 
 Rahm u t ! R ah m u t ! 
 
 The words fell from his lips in a hoarse whisper 
 as he ran, clinging to the darkest places, conscious 
 of nothing save the one fierce desire to get away 
 to some spot where the child's cries would not be 
 heard — where he would have time to think — some 
 spot where the work had been done already — where 
 nothing remained for lustful hands ! 
 
 The thought made him double back into the cool 
 watered gardens about the little group of houses 
 beyond the church. The flames were almost out 
 now, and in one roof, only a few sparks lingered 
 on the remaining rafters. Here would be peace ; 
 besides, even if the cries were heard, they might be 
 set down to some wounded thing dreeing its deadly 
 debt of suffering. A minute afterwards he stood in 
 a room, unroofed and reeking yet with the smell of 
 fire, but scarcely disturbed otherwise in its peaceful, 
 orderly arrangements — a room with pictures pasted 
 
28 shub'rat 
 
 to the walls and faintly visible by the glare, with 
 toys upon the floor, and a swinging cot whence 
 a child had been snatched. This child, perhaps — 
 who knows? Anyhow it cuddled down from Deen 
 Mahomed's arms into the pillows as if they were 
 familiar. 
 
 "Nanna! Nanna!" it sobbed pitifully. '^HiVao, 
 hiVao^ neendJii argia^' (swing, swing, sleep has come). 
 
 ^'jSo jao mera butcJicha^^ (sleep my child), replied 
 the old man quietly, as his blood-stained hand began 
 its task. The wonder of such task had j^^-ssed 
 utterly, and had any come to interrupt it he would 
 have given his life calmly for its fulfilment. Why, 
 he did not know. It was Fate. So the old voice, 
 gasping still for breath, settled into a time-honoured 
 lullaby, which has soothed the cradle of most bairns 
 in India, no matter of what race or colour. 
 
 " Oh ! crow ! Go crow ! 
 
 Ripe plums are so many. 
 Baby wants to sleep, you know. 
 They're two pounds for a penny." 
 
 So over and over in a low croon, mechanically 
 he chanted, till the child, losing its fear in the 
 familiar darkness, fell asleep. And then ? In a sort 
 of dull way the question had been in Deen Ma- 
 homed's mind from the beginning without an an- 
 swer, for he had gone so far along the road, simply 
 
shub'rIt 29 
 
 by following close on the Finger of Fate ; and now 
 there was no possibility of turning back. For woe 
 or weal he had taken the child's part, he had ac- 
 cepted the responsibility for its life, even to the 
 lenorth of death in others. Not that he cared much 
 for the consequences of the swinging blow he had 
 dealt to Rujjub — he was no true man. 
 
 What then? There was no chance of concealing 
 the child. It slept now, but ere long it would waken 
 again, and cry for " Nanna, Nanna." That must be 
 prevented for a time at any rate. The chubby hands 
 still clasped one of Rahmut's sweeties, and the old 
 man stooped to break off a corner, crumble it up with 
 something he took from an inner pocket, and then 
 place it gently within the child's moist, parted lips, 
 which closed upon it instinctively. He gave a sigh 
 of relief. That was better; that would settle the 
 cries for some hours, and before then he must have 
 made over the child to other hands. Yes, that was 
 it. He must somehow run the gauntlet of his com- 
 rades, and reach the entrenched position which the 
 infidels — curse them ! — had defended against odds 
 such as no man had dreamed of before. It was seven 
 miles to the north, that cantonment which would 
 have been destroyed but for those renegades from 
 the Faith who had stood by their masters, and that 
 handful of British troops which had refused to accept 
 defeat. Seven miles of jungle and open country 
 
30 shub'rat 
 
 alive with armed and reckless sepoys and sowars, to 
 whom a man in mufti was fair game, no matter what 
 the colour of his race, lay between him and that goal, 
 and Deen Mahomed's grim face grew grimmer as he 
 raised the sleeping child, pillows and all, wrapped 
 them in a quilt, and slung the bundle on his back — 
 slung it carefully so as to give air to the child and 
 freedom to his arms. He might need it if they tried 
 to stop him. He gave a questioning glance at the 
 sky as he came out into the garden where the scent 
 of the orange-blossoms drifted with the lingering 
 spirals of smoke. Not more than an hour or two 
 remained before the dawn would be upon them. He 
 must risk detection, then, by the short cut through 
 the bazaar; better that than the certainty of dis- 
 covery later on in the daylight by those ready for 
 renewed assault upon the entrenchment. 
 
 ^^Whokhimdar^'' challenged the sentry ceremoni- 
 ously set, as in peaceful times, at the city gate. 
 
 '''•Allah akhar tva Mahomed rusool^'' replied the old 
 man, without a quiver. That was true ; he was for 
 God and his Prophet when all was said and done. 
 But this was little Rahmut's guest — this. He 
 passed his hand over his forehead in a dazed sort of 
 way. 
 
 " Ari, look at his /oof," hiccoughed one of a group 
 in the street; "before God he hath more than his 
 share in the bundle. Stop, friend, and pay toll." 
 
shub'rat 31 
 
 " What my sword hath won my sword keeps," re- 
 torted Deen Mahomed fiercely. " Better for thee in 
 Paradise, Allah Buksh, if thou hadst smitten more 
 and drunk less." 
 
 " Let be ; let be ! " interrupted another. "'Tis Deen 
 Mahomed, the crazy watchman. I'll go bail, he hath 
 no more than he deserves for this day's work. And 
 he is a devil with that sword of his when he is angry. 
 Lo ! I saw him at the corner, mind you, where the 
 sahibs " 
 
 But Deen Mahomed had passed from earshot. 
 Passed on and on, through dark streets and light 
 ones, challenged jestingly, or in earnest ; and through 
 it all a growing doggedness, a growing determina- 
 tion came to him to do this thing, yet still remain, as 
 ever, a guardian of the Faith. This for Rahmut's 
 sake, the other for the sake of the Tomb, because he 
 was the dust of tlie footsteps of the saints in light. 
 
 Out in the open now, with the paling light of 
 dawn behind him and a drunken Hindu trooper 
 riding at him with a cry of '' Mam ! Ram ! " So they 
 dared to give an idolatrous cry, those Hindu dogs 
 whose aid had been sought to throw off the yoke — 
 who would soon find it on their own shoulders. A 
 step back, a mighty slash as the horse sped by, 
 maddened by bit and spur, a stumble, a crash, and 
 an old man, with a strange bundle at his back, was 
 hacking insanely at his prostrate foe. No more, 
 
32 
 
 " Rdrn^ Rdrri^'' for him ; that last cry had served as 
 the death-farewell of his race and creed. 
 
 On again, with a fiercer fire in the eyes, through 
 the great tufts of tiger-grass isolating each poor 
 square of God's earth from the next, and making it 
 impossible to see one's way. On and on swiftly, 
 forcing a path through the swaying stems, whose 
 silvery tasselled spikes above began to glitter in the 
 level beams of the rising sun. 
 
 Then suddenly, without a word of warning, came 
 an open sandy space, a brief command. 
 
 " Halt ! " 
 
 So soon ! It was nearer by a mile than he had 
 expected, and there was no chance of flight ; not 
 unless you made that burden on your back a target 
 for pursuing bullets. A fair mark, in truth, for the 
 half dozen or more of rifles ready in the hands of the 
 cursed infidels. 
 
 " Who goes there ? " came the challenge in the 
 cursed foreign tongue. He gave one sharp glance 
 towards the picket, and bitter hatred flared up within 
 him ; for there was not even a sahib there who 
 might, perchance, understand. Yet there was no 
 doubt, no doubt at all, even to his confused turmoil 
 of feeling, as to " who came there." A foe ! a foe 
 to the death when this was over ! So with a shout 
 came his creed : 
 
 '"'•Allah akhar wa 3Iahomed rusool,'" 
 
S hub' RAT 33 
 
 Then in a sort of gurgle, as he fell forward on his 
 face, it finished in " Been! Been! Been! " 
 
 ****** 
 
 " Nicked 'im, by gum ! Nicked the ole beast neat 
 as a ninepin," said one of the picket. 
 
 '^ Wonder wot he come on for like that?" said 
 another. 
 
 ^'B y ole Ghazi, that's wot he was," put in 
 
 a third. " They gets the drink aboard, an' don't care 
 for nothing but religion — rummy start, ain't it? 
 Hello ! wot's that? — a babby, by the Lord ! " 
 
 For the shock of Deen Mahomed's fall had awak- 
 ened the child. 
 
 As they drew it from the blanket, the sun tipped 
 over the tiger-grass, and fell on its golden curls. 
 
 ShuVrdt was over. 
 
 "I wonder wot 'e were a-goin' to do with it?" 
 remarked the inquirer, turning the dead body over 
 with his foot, and looking thoughtfully at the face, 
 fierce even in death. But no one hazarded a theory, 
 and the Finger of Fate had left no mark on the high, 
 narrow forehead. But the Night of Record was over 
 for it also. 
 
IN THE PERMANENT WAY 
 
 I HEARD this story in a rail-trolly on the Pind- 
 Dadur line, so I always think of it with a running 
 accompaniment; a rhythmic whir of wheels in 
 which, despite its steadiness, you feel the propelling 
 impulse of the unseen coolies behind, then the swift 
 skimming as they set their feet on the trolly for the 
 brief rest which merges at the first hint of lessened 
 speed into the old racing measure. Whir and slide, 
 racing and resting ! — while the wheels spin like 
 bobbins and the brick rubble in the permanent way 
 slips under your feet giddily, until jou could almost 
 fancy yourself sitting on a stationary engine, engaged 
 in winding up an endless red ribbon. A ribbon 
 edged, as if with tinsel, by steel rails stretching 
 away in ever narrowing lines to the level horizon. 
 Stretching straight as a die across a sandy desert, 
 rippled and waved by wrinkled sand hills into the 
 semblance of a sandy sea. 
 
 And that, from its size, must be a seventh wave. 
 I was just thinking this when the buzz of the brake 
 jarred me through to the marrow of my bones. 
 
 34 
 
IN THE PERMANENT WAY 35 
 
 " What's up ? A train ? " I asked of my compan- 
 ion who was giving me a lift across his section of the 
 desert. 
 
 " No ! " he replied laconically. " Now, then ! 
 hurry up, men." 
 
 Nothing in the wide world comes to pieces in the 
 hand like a trolly. It was dismembered and off the 
 line in a moment ; only however, much to my sur- 
 prise, to be replaced upon the rails some half a dozen 
 yards further along them. I was opening my lips 
 for one question when something I saw at my feet 
 among the brick rubble made me change it for 
 another. * 
 
 " Hullo I what the dickens is that? " 
 
 To the carnal eye it was two small squares of 
 smooth stucco, the one with an oval black stone set 
 in it perpendicularly, the other with a round purplish 
 one — curiously ringed with darker circles — set in 
 it horizontally. On the stucco of one were a few 
 dried tidsi ^ leaves and grains of rice ; on the other 
 suspicious-looking splashes of dark red. 
 
 "What's what?" echoed my friend, climbing up 
 to his seat again. 
 
 " Why, man, that thing ! — that thing in the per- 
 manent way ! " I replied, nettled at his manner. 
 
 He gave an odd little laugh, just audible above 
 the first whir of the wheels as we started again. 
 1 Marjoram. 
 
36 IN THE PERMANENT WAY 
 
 "That's about it. In the permanent way — con- 
 siderably." He paused, and I thought he was going 
 to relapse into the silence for which he was famous ; 
 but he suddenly seemed to change his mind. 
 
 " Look here," he said, " it's a fifteen mile run to 
 the first curve, and no trains due, so if you like I'll 
 tell you why we left the track." 
 
 And he did. 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 When they were aligning this section I was put on 
 to it— preliminary survey work under an R.E. man 
 who wore boiled shirts in the wilderness, and was 
 great on " Departmental Discipline." He is in Simla 
 now, of course. Well, we were driving a straight 
 line through the whole solar system and planting it 
 out with little red flags, when one afternoon, just 
 behind that big wave of a sand hill, we came upon 
 something in the way. It was a man. For further 
 description I should say it was a thin man. There 
 is nothing more to be said. He may have been old, 
 he may have been young, he may have been tall, he 
 may have been short, he may have been halt and 
 maimed, he may have been blind, deaf, or dumb, or 
 any or all of these. The only thing I know for 
 certain is that he was thin. The halassies ^ said he 
 was some kind of a Hindu saint, and they fell at his 
 feet promptly. I shall never forget the R.E.'s face 
 1 Tent pitchers, ineu employed in measuring land. 
 
IN THE PERMANENT WAY 37 
 
 as he stood trying to classify the creature accord- 
 ing to Wilson's Hindu Sects^ or his indignation 
 at the kalassies' ignorant worship of a man who, 
 for all they knew, might be a follower of Shiva, 
 while they were bound to Vishnu, or vice versa. He 
 was very learned over the Vaishnavas and the Saivas; 
 and all the time that bronze image with its hands on 
 its knees squatted in the sand staring into space per- 
 fectly unmoved. Perhaps the man saw us, perhaps he 
 didn't. I don't know ; as I said before, he was thin. 
 
 So after a time we stuck a little red flag in the 
 ground close to the small of his back, and went on 
 our w\ay rejoicing until we came to our camp, a mile 
 further on. It doesn't look like it, but there is a 
 brackish well and a sort of a village away there to 
 the right, and of course we always took advantage 
 of water when we could. 
 
 It must have been a week later, just as we came 
 to the edge of the sand hills, and could see a land- 
 mark or two, that I noticed the R.E. come up from 
 his prismatic compass looking rather pale. Then he 
 fussed over to me at the plane table. 
 
 " We're out," he said, " there is a want of Depart- 
 mental Discipline in this party, and we are out." 
 I forget how many fractions he said, but some in- 
 finitesimal curve would have been required to bring 
 us plumb on the next station, and as that would 
 have ruined the R.E.'s professional reputation we 
 
38 IN THE PERMANENT WAY 
 
 harked back to rectify the error. We found the 
 bronze image still sitting on the sand with its hands 
 on its knees ; but apparently it had shifted its posi- 
 tion some three feet or so to the right, for the flag 
 was fully that distance to the left of it. That night 
 the R.E. came to my tent with his hands full of 
 maps and his mind of suspicions. 
 
 " It seems incredible," he said, " but I am almost 
 convinced that hyragi or jogi^ or gosain or sungasi, 
 whichever he may be, has had the unparalleled 
 effrontery to move my flag. I can't be sure, but if 
 I were, I would have him arrested on the spot." 
 
 I suggested he was that already ; but it is some- 
 times difficult to make an R.E. see a Cooper's Hill 
 joke, especially when he is your superior officer. So 
 we did that bit over again. As it happened, my 
 chief was laid up with sun fever when we came to 
 the bronze image, and I had charge of the party- 
 I don't know why, exactly, but it seemed to me 
 rough on the thin man to stick a red flag at the small 
 of his back, as a threat that we meant to annex the 
 only atom of things earthly to which he still clung ; 
 time enough for that when the line was actually 
 under construction. So I told the kalassies to let 
 him do duty as a survey mark ; for, from what I had 
 heard, I knew that once a man of that sort fixes on 
 a place in which to gain immortality by penance, 
 he sticks to it till the mortality, at any rate, comes 
 
IN THE PERMANENT WAY 39 
 
 to an end. And this one, I found out from the 
 villagers, had been there for ten years. Of course 
 they said he never ate, or drank, or moved, but that, 
 equally of course, was absurd. 
 
 A year after this I came along again in charge of 
 a construction party, with an overseer called Crad- 
 dock, a big yellow-headed Saxon who couldn't kee^) 
 off the drink, and who had in consequence been 
 going down steadily in one department or another 
 for years. As good a fellow as ever stepped when 
 he was sober. Well, we came right on the thin one 
 again, plump in the very middle of the permanent 
 way. We dug round him and levelled up to him for 
 some time, and then one day Craddock gave a nod at 
 me and walked over to where that image squatted 
 staring into space. I can see the two now, Craddock 
 in his navvy's dress, his blue eyes keen yet kind in 
 the red face shaded by the dirty pith hat, and the 
 thin man without a rag of any sort to hide his bronze 
 anatomy. 
 
 " Look here, sonny," said Craddock, stooping over 
 the other, "you're in the way — in the permanent 
 way." 
 
 Then he just lifted him right up, gently, as if he 
 had been a child, and set him down about four feet 
 to the left. It was to be a metre gauge, so that was 
 enough for safety. There he sat after we had 
 propped him up again with his hyraga or cleft stick 
 
40 IN THE PERMANENT WAY 
 
 under the left arm, as if he were quite satisfied with 
 the change. But next day he was in the old place. 
 It was no use arguing with him. The only thing to 
 be done was to move him out of the way when we 
 wanted it. Of course when the earthwork was fin- 
 ished there was the plate-laying and ballasting and 
 what not to be done, so it came to be part of the big 
 Saxon's regular business to say in his Oxfordshire 
 drawl : 
 
 " Sonny, yo're in the waiy — in the permanent 
 waiy." 
 
 Craddock, it must be mentioned, was in a pecul- 
 iarly sober, virtuous mood, owing, no doubt, to the 
 desolation of the desert; in which, by the way, I 
 found him quite a godsend as a companion, for when 
 he was on the talk the quaintness of his ideas was 
 infinitely amusing, and his knowledge of the natives, 
 picked up as a loafer in mau}^ a bazaar and serai, was 
 surprisingly wide, if appallingly inaccurate. 
 
 " There is something, savin' yo'r presence, sir, 
 blamed wrong in the whole blamed business," he 
 said to me, with a mild remonstrance in his blue 
 eyes, one evening after he had removed the obstruc- 
 tion to progress. " That pore fellar, sir, 'e's a medi- 
 tatin' on the word Horn — Hommipiiddenhoyne ^ it is, 
 sir, I've bin told — an' doin' 'is little level to make 
 the spiritooal man subdoo 'is fleshly hinstinckts. 
 1 Om mipudmi houm. The Buddhist invocation. 
 
IN THE PERMANENT WAY 41 
 
 And I, Nathaniel James Craddock, so called in Holy 
 Baptism, I do assure you, a-eatin' and a-drinkin' 
 'earty, catches 'im right up like a babby, and sets 'im 
 on one side, as if I was born to it. And so I will — 
 an' willin', too — so as to keep 'im from 'arm's way ; 
 for 'eathin or Christian, sir, 'e's an eggsample to the 
 spiritooal part of me which, savin' your presence, sir, 
 is most ways drink." 
 
 Poor Craddock ! He went on the spree hopelessly 
 the day after we returned to civilisation, and it was 
 with the greatest difficulty that I succeeded in get- 
 ting him a trial as driver to the material train which 
 commenced running up and down the section. The 
 first time I went with it on business I had an inspec- 
 tion carriage tacked on behind the truck loads of 
 coolies and ballast, so that I could not make out why 
 on earth we let loose a danger whistle and slowed 
 down to full stop in the very middle of the desert 
 until I jumped down and ran forward. Even then I 
 was only in time to see Craddock coming back to his 
 engine with a redder face than ever. 
 
 " It's only old Meditations, sir," he said apologeti- 
 cally, as I climbed in beside him. " It don't take a 
 minute ; no longer nor a cow, and them's in the reg'- 
 lations. You see, sir, I wouldn't 'ave 'arm come to 
 the pore soul afore 'is spiritooal nater 'ad the straight 
 tip hoam. Neither would none of us, sir, coolie nor 
 driver, sir, on the section. We all likes old Eommi- 
 
42 IN THE PERMANENT WAY 
 
 puddenhome, 'e sticks to it so stiddy, that's where 
 it is." 
 
 '' Do you mean to say that you always have to get 
 out and lift him off the line ? " I asked, wondering 
 rather at the patience required for the task. 
 
 "That's so, sir," he replied slowly, in the same 
 apologetic tones. "It don't take no time you see, 
 sir, that's where it is. P'r'aps you may 'ave thought, 
 like as I did first time, that 'e 'd save 'is bacon when 
 the engine come along. Lordy ! the cold sweat 
 broke out on me that time. I brought 'er up, sir, 
 with the buffers at the back of 'is 'ed like them things 
 the photographers jiminy you straight with. But 'e 
 ain't that sort, ain't Meditations." Here Craddock 
 asked leave to light his pipe, and in the interval I 
 looked ahead along the narrowing red ribbon with 
 its tinsel edge, thinking how odd it must have been 
 to see it barred by that bronze image. 
 
 " No ! that ain't his sort," continued Craddock 
 meditatively, " though wot 'is sort may be, sir, is 
 not my part to say. I've ar'st, and ar'st, and ar'st 
 them pundits, but there ain't one of them can really 
 tell, sir, 'cos he ain't got any marks about him. You 
 see, sir, it's by their marks, like cattle, as you tell 
 'em. Some says he worships bloody Shivers'^ — 'im 
 'oos wife you know, sir, they calls Martha Davy ^ — a 
 Christian sort o' name, ain't it, sir, for a 'eathin idol ? 
 1 Shiva. ^ Mata devi. 
 
IN THE PERMANENT WAY 43 
 
 — and some says 'e worships Wlslinyou Lueksmi ^ an' 
 that lot, an' Holy ^ too, though, savin' your presence, 
 sir, it ain't much holiness I see at them times, but 
 mostly drink. It makes me feel quite 'omesick, I do 
 assure you, sir, more as if they was humans like me, 
 likewise." 
 
 " And which belief do you incline to ? " I asked, 
 for the sake of prolonging the conversation. 
 
 He drew his rough hand over his corn-coloured 
 beard, and quite a grave look came to the blue eyes. 
 " I inclines to Shiver^'' he said decisively, " and I'll 
 tell you why, sir. Shiver s bloody ; but 'e's dead on 
 death. They calls 'im the Destroyer. 'E don't care 
 a damn for the body ; 'e's all for the spiritooal nater, 
 like old Meditations there. Now Wishnyou Lueksmi 
 an' that lot is the Preservers. They eats an' drinks 
 'earty, like me. So it stands to reason, sir, don't it? 
 that 'e's a Shiver^ and I'm a Wishnyou Lueksmi^ 
 He stood up under pretence of giving a wipe round 
 a valve with the oily rag he held, and looked out to 
 the horizon where the sun was setting, like a huge 
 red signal right on the narrowing line. " So," he 
 went on after a pause, " that's why I wouldn't 'ave 
 'arm come to old Meditations. 'E's a Shivei\ I'm a 
 Wishnyou Lueksmi. That's what Jam." 
 
 His meaning was quite clear, and I am not ashamed 
 to say that it touched me. 
 
 1 Vishnu Lukshmi. ^ ffoU, the Indian Saturnalia. 
 
44 IN THE PERMANENT WAY 
 
 " Look here," I said, " take care you don't run over 
 that old chap some day when you are drunk, that's all." 
 
 He bent over another valve, burnishing it. " I 
 hope to God I don't," he said in a low voice. " That'd 
 about finish me altogether, I expect." 
 
 We returned the next morning before daybreak ; 
 but I went on the engine, being determined to see 
 how that bronze image looked on the permanent 
 way when you were steaming up to it. 
 
 "You ketch sight of 'im clear this side," said 
 Craddock, " a good two mile or more ; ef you had 
 a telescope ten for that matter. It ain't so easy 
 t'other side with the sun a-shining bang inter the 
 eyes. And there ain't no big wave as a signal over 
 there. But Lordy ! there ain't no fear of my missin' 
 old Meditations." 
 
 Certainly, none that morning. He showed clear, 
 first against the rosy flush of dawn, afterwards like 
 a dark stain on the red ribbon. 
 
 " I'll run up close to him to-day, sir," said Crad- 
 dock, " so as you shall see wot 'e's made of." 
 
 The whistle rang shrill over the desert of sand, 
 which lay empty of all save that streak of red with 
 the dark stain upon it; but the stain never moved, 
 never stirred, though the snorting demon from the 
 west came racing up to it full speed. 
 
 " Have a care, man ! Have a care ! " I shouted ; 
 but my words were almost lost in the jar of the 
 
IN THE PERMANENT WAY 45 
 
 brake put on to the utmost. Even then I could 
 only crane round the cab with my eyes fixed on 
 that bronze image straight ahead of us. Could we 
 stop in time — would it move ? Yes ! no I j^es ! 
 Slower and slower — how many turns of the fly- 
 wheel to so many yards? — I felt as if I were 
 working the sum frantically in my head, when, 
 with a little backward shiver, the great circle of 
 steel stopped dead, and Craddock's voice came in 
 cheerful triumph. 
 
 » There ! didn't I tell you, sir ? Ain't 'e stiddy ? 
 Ain't 'e a-subdooin' of mortality beautiful ? " The 
 next instant he was out, and as he stooped to his 
 task he flung me back a look. 
 
 " Now, sonny, you'll 'ave to move. You're in the 
 way — the permanent way, my dear." 
 
 That was the last I saw of him for some time, 
 for I fell sick and went home. When I returned 
 to work I found, much to my surprise, that Crad- 
 dock was in the same appointment ; in fact, he had 
 been promoted to drive the solitary passenger train 
 which now ran daily across the desert. He had 
 not been on the spree once, I was told; indeed, the 
 R.E., who was of the Methodist division of that 
 gallant regiment, took great pride in a reformation 
 which, he informed me, was largely due to his 
 religious teaching combined with Departmental 
 Discipline. 
 
46 IN THE PERMANENT WAY 
 
 " And how is Meditations ? " I asked, when the 
 great rough hand had shaken mine veliemently. 
 
 Craddock's face seemed to me to grow redder than 
 ever. " 'E's very well, sir, thanking you kindly. 
 There's a native driver on the Goods now. 'E's a 
 Shiver- Martha Davy lot, so I pays 'im live rupee a 
 month to nip out sharp with the stoker an' shovel 
 'is old saint to one side. I'm gettin' good pay now, 
 you know, sir." 
 
 I told him there was no reason to apologise for 
 the fact, and that I hoped it might long continue ; 
 whereat he gave a sheepish kind of laugh, and said 
 he hoped so too. 
 
 Christmas came and went uneventfully without an 
 outbreak, and I could not refrain from congratulat- 
 ing Craddock on one temptation safely over. 
 
 He smiled broadly. 
 
 "Lor' bless you, sir," he said, "you didn't never 
 think, did you, that Nathaniel James Craddock, 
 which his name was given to 'im in Holy Baptism, 
 I do assure you, was going to knuckle down that 
 way to old Hommipuddenhome ? 'Twouldn't be fair 
 on Christmas noways, sir, and though I don't set 
 the store 'e does on 'is spiritooal nater, I was born 
 and bred in a Christyan country, I do assure you." 
 
 I congratulated him warmly on his sentiments, 
 and hoped again that the}^ would last; to which 
 he replied as before that he hoped so too. 
 
IN THE PERMANENT WAY 47 
 
 And then Holi time came round, and, as luck 
 would have it, the place was full of riff-raff low 
 whites going on to look for work in a further sec- 
 tion. I had to drive through the bazaar on my way 
 to the railway station and it beat anything I had 
 ever seen in various vice. East and West were 
 outbidding each other in iniquity, and to make 
 matters worse an electrical dust-storm was blow- 
 ing hard. You never saw such a scene ; it was 
 pandemonium, background and all. I thought I 
 caught a glimpse of a corn-coloured beard and a 
 pair of blue eyes in a wooden balcony among tink- 
 ling mtdras and jasmine chaplets, but I wasn't sure. 
 However, as I was stepping into the inspection 
 carriage which, as usual, was the last in the train, 
 I saw Craddock crossing the platform to his engine. 
 His white coat was all splashed with the red dye 
 they had been throwing at each other, Holi fashion, 
 in the bazaar ; his walk, to my eyes, had a lilt in 
 it, and finally, the neck of a black bottle showed 
 from one pocket. 
 
 Obedient to one of those sudden impulses which 
 come, heaven knows why, I took my foot off the 
 step and followed him to the engine. 
 
 "Comin' aboard, sir," he said quite collectedly. 
 " You'd be better be'ind to-night, for it's blowin' 
 grit fit to make me a walkin' sandpaper inside and 
 out." And before I could stop him the black bottle 
 
48 IN THE PERMANENT WAY 
 
 was at his mouth. This decided me. Perhaps my 
 face showed my thoughts, for as I climbed into the 
 cab he gave an uneasy laugh. *' Don't be afraid, 
 sir : it's black as pitch, but I knows where old 
 Meditation comes by instinck, I do assure you. 
 One hour an' seventeen minutes from the distance 
 signal with pressure as it oughter be. Hillo ! 
 there's the whistle and the baboo a-waving. Off 
 we goes ! " 
 
 As we flashed past a red light I looked at my 
 watch. 
 
 " Don't you be afraid, sir," he said, again looking 
 at his. " It's ten to ten now, and in one hour an' 
 seventeen minutes on goes the brake. That's the 
 ticket for Shivers and Martha Davy ; though I am 
 a Wishnyou Lucksmi,^'' He paused a moment, and 
 as he stood put his hand on a stanchion to steady 
 himself. 
 
 " Very much of a Wishnyou Lucksiyii^'' he went on 
 with a shake of the head. "I've 'ad a drop too 
 much and I know it; but it ain't fair on a fellar 
 like me, 'aving so many names to them, when 
 they're all the same — a eatin' an' drinkin' lot like 
 me. There's Christen ^ — you'd 'ave thought he'd 
 'ave been a decent chap by 'is name, but 'e went 
 on orful with them Gopis — that's Hindu for milk- 
 maids, sir. And Harry ^ — well, he wasn't no bet- 
 1 Kristna. ^ Hari. 
 
IN THE PERMANENT WAY 49 
 
 ter than some other Harrys I've heard on. And 
 Canyer,! I expect he could just about. To say 
 nothin' of G-opi-nauglity ; ^ and naughty he were, as 
 no doubt you've heard tell, sir. There's too many 
 on them for a pore fellar who don't set store by 'is 
 spiritooal nater ; especially when they mixes them- 
 selves up with Angcore^ whisky, an' ginger ale." 
 
 His blue eyes had a far-away look in them, and 
 his words were fast losing independence, but I 
 understood what he meant perfectly. In that brief 
 glimpse of the big bazaar I had seen the rows of 
 Western bottles standing cheek by jowl with the 
 bowls of dolee dye, the sour curds and sweetmeats 
 of Holi-iidiQ. 
 
 "You had better sit down, Craddock," I said 
 severely, for I saw that the fresh air was having 
 its usual effect. " Perhaps if you sleep a bit you'll 
 be more fit for work. I'll look out and wake you 
 when you're wanted." 
 
 He gave a silly laugh, let go the stanchion, and 
 drew out his watch. 
 
 " Don't you be afraid, sir ! One hour and seven- 
 teen minutes from the distance signal. I'll keep 
 'im out o' 'arm's way, an' willing to the end of 
 the chapter." 
 
 1 Kaniya. 
 
 2 Gopi-nath. These are all names of Vishnu in his various 
 Avatars. 
 
 3 Encore. 
 
50 IN THE PERMANENT WAY 
 
 He gave a lurch forward to the seat, stumbled, 
 and the watch dropped from his hand. For a 
 moment I thought he might go overboard, and 
 I clutched at him frantically; but with another 
 lurch and an indistinct admonition to me not to 
 be afraid, he sank into the corner of the bench 
 and was asleep in a second. Then I stooped to 
 pick up the watch, and, rather to my surprise, 
 found it uninjured and still going. 
 
 Craddock's words, " ten minutes to ten," recurred 
 to me. Then it would be twenty-seven minutes 
 past eleven before he was wanted. I sat down to 
 wait, bidding the native stoker keep up the fire 
 as usual. The wind was simply shrieking round 
 us, and the sand drifted thick on Craddock's still, 
 upturned face. More than once I wiped it off, 
 feeling he might suffocate. It was the noisiest, and 
 at the same time the most silent, journey I ever 
 undertook. Pandemonium, with seventy times seven 
 of its devils let loose outside the cab; inside Crad- 
 dock asleep, or dead — he might have been the 
 latter from his stillness. It became oppressive after 
 a time, as I remembered that other still figure, 
 miles down the track, which was so strangely 
 bound to this one beside me. The minutes seemed 
 hours, and I felt a distinct relief when the watch, 
 which I had held in my hand most of the time, 
 told me it was seventeen minutes past eleven. 
 
IN THE PERMANENT WAY 51 
 
 Only ten minutes before the brake should be put 
 on; and Craddock would require all that time to 
 get his senses about him. 
 
 I might as well have tried to awaken a corpse, 
 and it was three minutes to the twenty-seven when 
 I gave up the idea as hopeless. Not that it mat- 
 tered, since I could drive an engine as well as 
 he ; still the sense of responsibility weighed heavily 
 upon me. My hand on the brake valve trembled 
 visibly as I stood watching the minute hand of the 
 watch. Thirty seconds before the time I put the 
 brake on hard, determining to be on the safe side. 
 And then when I had taken this precaution a per- 
 fectly unreasoning anxiety seized on me. I stepped 
 on to the footboard and craned forward into the 
 darkness which, even without the wind and the 
 driving dust, was blinding. The lights in front 
 shot slantways, showing an angle of red ballast, 
 barred by gleaming steel ; beyond that a formless 
 void of sand. But the centre of the permanent 
 way, where that figure would be sitting, was dark 
 as death itself. What a fool I was, when the 
 great circle of the fly-wheel was slackening, slack- 
 ening, every second ! And yet the fear grew lest 
 I should have been too late, lest I should have 
 made some mistake. To appease my own folly I 
 drew out my watch in confirmation of the time. 
 Great God ! a difference of two minutes ! — two 
 
52 IN THE PERMANENT WAY 
 
 whole minutes ! — yet the watches had been the 
 same at the distance signal ? — the fall, of course ! 
 the fall ! ! 
 
 I seemed unable to do anything but watch that 
 slackening wheel, even though I became conscious 
 of a hand on my shoulder, of some one standing 
 beside me on the footboard. No ! not standing, 
 swaying, lurching 
 
 "Don't!" I cried. " Don't ! it's madness ! " But 
 that some one was out in the darkness. Then I 
 saw a big white figure dash across the angle of 
 light with outspread arms. 
 
 " Now then, sonny ! yo're in the way — the per- 
 manent way." 
 
 ****** 
 
 The inspector paused, and I seemed to come back 
 to the sliding whir of the trolly wheels. In the 
 distance a semaphore was dropping its red arm and 
 a pointsman, like a speck on the ribbon, was at 
 work shunting us into a siding. 
 
 "Well?" I asked. 
 
 " There isn't anything more. When a whole train 
 goes over two men who are locked in each other's 
 arms it is hard — hard to tell — well, which is 
 Shivers Martha Davy^ and which is Wishnyou 
 Lucksmi. It was right out in the desert in the 
 hot weather, no parsons or people to object; so 
 1 buried them there in the permanent way." 
 
IN THE PERMANENT WAY 53 
 
 " And those are tombstones, I suppose ? " 
 He laughed. " No ; altars. The native employes 
 put them up to their saint. The oval black up- 
 right stone is Shiva, the Destroyer's ling am ; those 
 splashes are blood. The flat one, decorated with 
 flowers, is the salagrama^'^ sacred to Vishnu the 
 Preserver. You see nobody really knew whether 
 old Meditations was a Saiva or a Vaishnava ; so 
 I suggested this arrangement as the men were 
 making a sectarian quarrel out of the question." 
 He paused again and added: 
 
 " You see it does for both of them." 
 
 The jar of the points prevented me from replying. 
 
 1 A fossil ammonite. 
 
ON THE SECOND STORY 
 
 It was a three-storied house in reality, though 
 time had given it the semblance of a fourth in the 
 mud platform which led up to its only entrance. 
 For the passing feet of generations had worn down 
 the levels of the alley outside, and the toiling 
 hands of generations had added to the level of the 
 rooms within, until those who wished to pass from 
 one to the other had to climb the connecting steps 
 ere they could reach the door. 
 
 The door itself was broad as it was high, and 
 had a strangely deformed look ; since nearly half 
 of its two carven stone jambs were, of necessity, 
 hidden behind the platform. These stone jambs, 
 square-hewn, roughly-carven, were the only sign 
 of antiquity visible in the house from the alley; 
 the rest being the usual straight-up-and-down almost 
 windowless wall built of small purplish bricks set 
 in a mortar of mud. It stood, however, a little 
 further back in the alley than its neighbours, so 
 giving room for the mud platform; but that was 
 its only distinction. 
 
 54 
 
ON THE SECOND STORY 55 
 
 The alley in its turn differed in no way from 
 the generality of such alleys in the walled towns 
 where the houses — like trees in a crowded planta- 
 tion — shoot up shoulder to shoulder, as if trying 
 to escape skywards from the yeai-ly increasing press- 
 ure of humanity. It was, hriefly, a deep, dark, irreg- 
 ular drain of a phxce, shadowful utterly save for the 
 one brief half hour or so during Avhich the sun 
 showed in the notched ribbon of the sky wliich was 
 visible between the uneven turretings of the roof. 
 
 Yet the very sunlessness and airlessness had its 
 advantages. In hot weather it brought relief from 
 the scorching glare, and in the cold, such air as 
 there was remained warm even beneath a frosty 
 sky. So that the mud platform, with its possibili- 
 ties of unhustled rest, was a favourite gossiping 
 place of the neighbourhood. All the more so be- 
 cause, between it and the next house, diving down 
 through the dehris of countless generations and 
 green with the slime of countless ages, lay one of 
 those wells to which the natives cling so fondly 
 in defiance of modern sanitation and w^ater-works. 
 But there was a third reason why the platform 
 was so much frequented; on the second story of 
 the house to which it belonged stood the oldest 
 Hindu shrine in the city. How it came to be there 
 no one could say clearly. The Brahmins who 
 tended it from the lower story told tales of a 
 
56 ON THE SECOND STORY 
 
 plinthed temple built in the heroic age of Prithi 
 Raj ; but only this much was certain, that it was 
 very old, and that the steep stone ladder of a 
 stair which led up to the arched alcoves of the 
 ante-shrine was of very different date to the ordi- 
 nary brick one which led thence to the third 
 story ; where, among other lodgers, Ramanund, B.A., 
 lived with his widowed mother. 
 
 He was a mathematical master in a mission 
 school, and twice a day on his way to and from 
 the exact sciences he had to pass up and down 
 the brick ladder and the stone stair. And some- 
 times he had to stand aside on the three-cornered 
 landing where the brick and stone met, in order 
 that the women coming to worship might pass 
 with their platters of curds, their trays of cressets, 
 and chaplets of flowers into the dim ante-shrine 
 where the liglit from a stone lattice glistened faintly 
 on the damp oil-smeared pavement. But that being 
 necessarily when he was on his way downstairs, 
 and deep in preparation for the day's work, he 
 did not mind a minute or so of delay for further 
 study; and he would go on with his elementary 
 treatise on logarithms until the tinkle of the ank- 
 lets merged into the giggle which generally fol- 
 lowed, when in the comparative - seclusion of the 
 ante-shrine, the veils could be lifted for a peep 
 at the handsome young man. But Ramanund, al- 
 
ON THE SECOND STORY 57 
 
 belt a lineal descendant of the original Brahmin 
 priests of the temple, had read Herbert Spencer 
 and John Stuart Mill ; so he would go on his way 
 careless alike of the unseen women and the unseen 
 shrine — of the mysteries of sex and religion as 
 presented in his natural environment. There are 
 dozens of young men in India now-a-days in this 
 position ; who stand figuratively, as he did actually, 
 giving the go-by to one-half of life alternately, 
 and letting the cressets and the chaplets and the 
 unseen women pass unchallenged into the alcove, 
 where the speckled light of the lattice bejewelled 
 their gay garments, and a blue cloud of incense 
 floated sideways among the dim arches. 
 
 And Ramanund was as good a specimen of this 
 new India as could be found. North or South. 
 Not of robust physique — that was scarcely to be 
 expected after generations of in and in breeding — 
 but of most acute intelligence, and, by virtue of 
 inherited spiritual distinction, singularly free from 
 the sensual, passive acquiescence in the limitations 
 of life which brings content to the most of humanity. 
 He was, by birth, as it were, a specialised specula- 
 tive machine working at full pressure with a pure 
 virtue escapement. As President of a Debating 
 Club affiliated with the "Society for the General 
 Improvement of the People of India," he was 
 perhaps needlessly lavish of vague expressions such 
 
58 ON THE SECOND STORY 
 
 as the individual rights of man ; but then he, in 
 common with his kind, have only lately become 
 acquainted with the ideas such phrases are sup- 
 posed to express, and have not as yet learnt their 
 exact use — that being an art which history tells 
 needs centuries of national and individual struggle 
 for its attainment. 
 
 Be tliat as it may, even in the strict atmosphere 
 of the Mission School, Ramanund's only fault was 
 that he had assimilated its morality and rejected its 
 dogma. In the orthodox Hindu household upstairs, 
 over which his widowed mother ruled severely, his 
 only crime was that he refused to replace a wife, 
 deceased of the measles at the age of six, for 
 another of the good lady's choosing. For that 
 other matter of slighting the shrine downstairs is 
 too common now-a-days in India to excite any re- 
 crimination ; its only effect being to make the 
 women regard the rule which forbids their eating 
 with the men folks, as a patent of purity, instead 
 of a sign of inferiority ; since it is a safeguard 
 against contamination from those who, when be- 
 3^ond the watch of secluded eyes, may have defiled 
 themselves in a thousand Western ways. 
 
 Regarding the wife, however, Ramanund was 
 firm, despite the prayers that his mother offered 
 before the Goddess downstairs for his deliverance 
 from obstinacy. He used to accompany her some- 
 
ON THE SECOND STORY 59 
 
 times on this errand so far as the three-cornered 
 landing, and then with a smile proceed on his way 
 to the exact sciences. Even the clang of the great 
 bell wliich hung in front of the idol within tip-toe 
 touch of the worshipper, as it used to come pealing 
 after him down the stairs, proclaiming that the 
 goddess' attention had been called to a new peti- 
 tioner, did not bring a comprehension of facts to 
 his singularly clear brain. Those facts being, that, 
 rightly or wrongly, the flamboyant image of Kali 
 cievi 1 — which his ancestors had tended faithfully — 
 was being besieged by as fervent a mother-prayer as 
 had been laid before any divinity — or dev-m\iy as 
 the word really stands. 
 
 In truth Ramanund had no special desire to marry 
 at all ; or even to fall in love. He was too busy with 
 the exact sciences to experimentalise on the sus- 
 pension of the critical faculty in man; besides, he 
 had definitely made up his mind to marry a widow 
 when he did marry. For he was as great on the 
 widow question as he was on all others which 
 appealed to his kindly moral nature. He and his 
 friends of the same stamp — pleaders, clerks, and 
 such-like living in the alley — used to sit on the mud 
 steps after working hours, and discuss such topics 
 before adjourning to the Debating Club; but they 
 always left one of the flights of steps free. This was 
 
 Goddess. 
 
60 ON THE SECOND STORY 
 
 for the worshippers to pass upwards to the shrine as 
 soon as the blare of the conches, the beatings of 
 drums, and the ringing of bells should announce 
 that the dread Goddess having been washed and put 
 to bed like a good little girl, her bath water was 
 available to those who wished to drink it as a charm 
 against the powers of darkness. 
 
 That was with the waning light ; but as it was a 
 charm also against the dangers of day, the dawn in 
 its turn would be disturbed by clashings and bray- 
 ings to tell of Kali devi's uprisal. Then, in the 
 growing light the house-mothers, fresh from their 
 grindstones, would come shuffling through the alleys 
 with a pinch or two of new-ground flour, and the 
 neighbouring Brahmins — hurriedly devotional after 
 the manner of priesthoods — would speed up the 
 stair (muttering prayers as they sped) to join for 
 half a minute in the sevenfold circling of the sacred 
 lamps ; while, divided between sleep and greed, the 
 fat traders on their way to their shops would begin 
 business by a bid for divine favour, and yawn peti- 
 tions as they waddled, that the supply of holy water 
 would hold out till they arrived at the shrine. 
 
 But at this time in the morning, Ramanund would 
 be sleeping the sleep of the just upstairs, after sitting 
 up past midnight over his pupils' exercises ; for one 
 of the first effects of civilisation is to make men 
 prefer a kerosene lamp to the sun. 
 
ON THE SECOND STORY 61 
 
 Now, one September when the rains, coming late 
 and ceasing early, had turned the pestilential drain in 
 the city into a patent germ propagator, the worship- 
 pers at Kali clevis shrine were more numerous than 
 ever. Indeed, one or two half-hearted free-thinker 
 hangers-on to the fringe of Progress and Debating 
 Clubs began to hedge cautiously by allowing their 
 women folk to make offerings in their names ; since 
 when cholera is choosing its victims haphazard up 
 and down the alleys, it is as well to ensure your life 
 in every office that will accept you as a client. 
 
 Ramanund, of course, and his immediate friends 
 were above such mean trucklings. They exerted 
 themselves to keep the alley clean, they actually 
 subscribed to pay an extra sweeper, they distributed 
 cholera pills and the very soundest advice to their 
 neighbours; especially to those who persisted in 
 using the old well. Ramanund, indeed, went so far 
 as to circulate a pamphlet, imploring those who, 
 from mistaken religious scruples, would not drink 
 from the hydrants to filter their water ; in support 
 of which thesis he quoted learned Sanskrit texts. 
 
 " J«z Kali ma!'''^ said the populace to each other, 
 when they read it. " Such talk is pure blasphemy. 
 If She wishes blood shall She not drink it? Our 
 fathers messed not with filters. Such things bring 
 Her wrath on the righteous; even as now in this 
 sickness." 
 
 1 Victory to Mother Kali ! 
 
62 ON THE SECOND STORY 
 
 Yet they spoke calmly, acquiescing in the inevi- 
 table from their side of the question, just as Rama- 
 nund and his like did from theirs ; for this passivity 
 is characteristic of the race — which yet needs only 
 a casual match to make it flare into fanaticism. 
 
 So time passed until one day, the moon being at 
 the full, and the alley lying mysterious utterly by 
 reason of the white shining of its turreted roofs 
 set, as it were, upon the solid darkness of the narrow 
 lane below, a new voice broke in on the reading of a 
 paper regarding the " Sanitation of the Vedic Ages," 
 which Ramanund was declaiming to some chosen 
 friends. 
 
 " Jai Kali maT^ said this voice also, but the tone 
 was different, and the words rang fiercely. "Is 
 Her arm shortened that it cannot save? Is it 
 straightened that it cannot slay? Wait, ye fools, 
 till the dark moon brings Her night and ye shall 
 see." 
 
 It came from a man with an evil hemp-sodden 
 face, and a body naked save for a saffron-coloured 
 rag, who, smeared from head to foot with cowdung 
 ashes, was squatting on the threshold, daubing it 
 with cowdung and water; for the evening worship- 
 pers had passed, and he was at work betimes 
 purifying the sacred spot against the morrow's 
 festival. 
 
 The listeners turned with a start, to look at the 
 
ON THE SECOND STORY 63 
 
 strange yet familiar figure, and Ramanand, cut short 
 in his eloquence, frowned ; but he resumed his paper, 
 which was in English, without a pause, being quick 
 to do battle in words after the manner of New India. 
 
 " These men, base pretenders to the holiness of 
 the sumiydsi^ are the curse of the country ! Mean 
 tricksters and rogues wandering like locusts through 
 the land to prey on the timid fears of our modest 
 countrywomen. Men who outrage the common 
 sense in a thousand methods; who " 
 
 The man behind liim laughed shortly, '' Curse on, 
 master yee.^" he said — "for curses they are by the 
 sound, though I know not the tongue for sure. 
 Yea! curse if thou likest, and praise the new wis- 
 dom ; yet thou — Ramanund, Brahmin, son of those 
 who tend Her — hast not forgotten the old. Forget 
 it! How can a man forget what he learnt in his 
 mother's womb, what he hath learnt in his second 
 birth?" 
 
 Long years after prayer has passed from a man's 
 life, the sound of the " Our Father" may bring him 
 back in thought to his mother's knee. So it was 
 with Ramanund, as in the silence which followed, 
 he watched (by the flickering light of the cresset 
 set on the ground between them) his adversary's 
 lips moving in the secret verse which none but the 
 twice-born may repeat. It brought back to him, 
 as if it had been yesterday, the time when, half- 
 
64 ON THE SECOND STORY 
 
 frightened, half-important, he had heard it whispered 
 in his ear for the first time. When for the first 
 time also he had felt the encircling thread of the 
 twice-born castes on his soft young body. That 
 thread which girdled him from the common herd, 
 which happed and wrapped him round with a 
 righteousness not his own, but imputed to him by 
 divine law. Despite logarithms, despite pure moral- 
 ity, something thrilled in him half in exultation, 
 half in fear. It was unforgetable, and yet, in a way, 
 he had forgotten ! — forgotten what ? The question 
 was troublesome, so he gave it the go-by quickly. 
 
 " I have not forgotten the old wisdom jogi y^e," 
 he said. " I hold more of it than thou, with all thy 
 trickery. But remember this. We of the Sacred 
 Land^ will not stand down-country cheating, and 
 if thou art caught at it here, 'tis the lock-up." 
 
 " If I am caught," echoed the man as he drew 
 a small earthen pot closer to him and began to stir 
 its contents with his hand, every now and again 
 testing their consistency by letting a few drops fall 
 from his lifted fingers back into the pot. They 
 were thick and red, showing in the dim light like 
 blood. "It is not we, servants of dread Kali, who 
 are caught, 'tis ye faithless ones who have wan- 
 dered from Her. Ye who pretend to know " 
 
 " A scoundrel when we see one," broke in the 
 ^ The first Aryan settlements were in the Punjab. 
 
ON THE SECOND STORY 65 
 
 schoolmaster, his high thin tones rising. "And I 
 do know one at least. What is more, I will have 
 thee watched by the police." 
 
 "Don't," put in one of the others in English. 
 "What use to rouse anger needlessly. Such men 
 are dangerous." 
 
 " Dangerous ! " echoed Ramanund. " Their day is 
 past " 
 
 " The people believe in them still," persisted an- 
 other, looking uneasily at the jogi's scowl, which, 
 in truth, was not pleasant. 
 
 " And such language is, in my poor opinion, de- 
 scriptive of that calculated to cause a breach of 
 peace," remarked a rotund little pleader, " thus con- 
 trary to mores publico. In moderation lies safety." 
 
 " And cowardice," retorted Ramanund, returning 
 purposely to Hindustani and keeping his eager face 
 full on the jogi. " It is because the people, illiter- 
 ate and ignorant, believe in them, that I advocate 
 resistance. Let us purge the old, pure faith of our 
 fathers from the defilements which have crept in ! 
 Let us, by the light of new wisdom revealing the 
 old, sweep from our land the nameless horrors which 
 deface it. Let us teach our illiterate brothers and 
 sisters to treat these priests of Kali as they deserve, 
 and to cease worshipping that outrage on the very 
 name of womanhood upstairs — that devil drunk 
 with blood, unsexed, obscene " 
 
6^ ON THE SECOND STORY 
 
 He was proceeding after his wont, stringing ad- 
 jectives on a single thread of meaning, when a 
 triumphant yell startled him into a pause. 
 
 " Jai Kali ma ! Jai Kali ma ! " 
 
 It seemed to fill the alley with harsh echoes 
 blending into a guttural cruel laugh. ''So be it, 
 brother ! Let it be Kali, the Eternal Woman, 
 against thee, Ramanund the Scholar! I tell thee 
 
 She will stretch out Her left hand so '' here his 
 
 own left hand, reddened with the pigment he had 
 been preparing for the purpose, printed itself upon 
 
 one lintel of the door, " and Her right hand so " 
 
 here his right did the same for the other lintel, 
 and he paused, obviously to give effect to the situa- 
 tion. Indeed his manner throughout had been in- 
 tensely theatrical, and this deft blending of the 
 ordinary process of marking the threshold, with a 
 mysterious threat suitable to the occasion, betrayed 
 the habitual trafficker in superstitious fear. 
 
 " And then, J6(ji jee^'' sneered Ramanund imper- 
 turbably. 
 
 " And then, master jee ? " cried his adversary, his 
 anger growing at his own impotence to impress, as 
 he clenched his reddened hands and stooped for- 
 ward to bring his scowl closer to the calm con- 
 tempt, "Why then She will draw fools to Her 
 bosom, bloody though they deem it." 
 
 "And if they will not be drawn?" 
 
ON THE SECOND STORY 67 
 
 The words scarcely disturbed the stillness of the 
 alley, which was deserted save for that strange 
 group, outlined by the flicker of the cresset. On the 
 one side, backed b}^ the cavernous darkness of the 
 low, wide door, was the naked savage-looking figure, 
 with its hands dripping still in heavy red drops, 
 stretched out in menace over the lamp. On the 
 other was Ramanund, backed by his friends, decent, 
 civilised, in their western-cut white clothing. 
 
 " Damn you — you — you brute ! " 
 
 The schoolmaster seldom swore ; when lie did he 
 used English oaths. Possibl}^ because they seemed 
 more alien to his own virtue. On this occasion 
 several came fluently as he fumbled for his pocket 
 handkerchief ; for the jogi in ansAver to his taunt 
 had reached out one of his red hands and drawn 
 three curving fingers down the centre of Ramanund's 
 immaculate forehead. The emblem of his discarded 
 faith, the bloody trident of Siva, showed there dis- 
 tinctly ere the modern hemstitclied handkerchief 
 wiped it away petulantly. It was gone in a second, 
 yet Ramanund even as he assured liimself of the 
 fact by persistent rubbing felt that it had somehow 
 sunk more than skin deep. The knowledge made 
 him swear the harder, and struggle vehemently 
 against his comrade's restraining hands. 
 
 " It is a case for police and binding over to keep 
 peace," protested the pleader soothingly. '' I will 
 
68 ON THE SECOND STORY 
 
 conduct same even on appeals to highest court with- 
 out further charge." 
 
 " In addition, it is infra dig to disciples of the law 
 and order thus to behave as the illiterate," put in 
 another, while a third, with less theory and more 
 practice, remarked that to use violence to a priest 
 of Kali on the threshold of Her temple during 
 Her sacred month was as much as their lives 
 were worth; since God only knew how many a 
 silent believer within earshot needed but one cry to 
 come to the rescue of Her servant, especially now 
 when the sickness was making men sensitive to Her 
 honour. 
 
 So, in the end, outraged civilisation contented 
 itself by laying a formal charge of assault in the 
 neighbouring police station against a certain religious 
 mendicant, name unknown, supposed to have come 
 from Benares, who in the public thoroughfare had 
 infringed the liberty of one of Her Imperial Majesty's 
 liege subjects by imprinting the symbol of a decadent 
 faith on his forehead. And thereinafter it repaired 
 to the Debating Club, where Ramanund recovered 
 his self-respect in a more than usually per-fervid out- 
 burst of eloquence. So fervid, indeed, that one of 
 the most forward lights in the province, who hap- 
 pened to look in, swore eternal friendship on the 
 spot. The result being that the two young men 
 discussed every burning question under the sun, 
 
ON THE SECOND STORY 69 
 
 as, with arms interclasped, Ramanuiicl saw his new 
 acquaintance home to his lodgings. 
 
 Thus it was past midnight ere he returned to his 
 own, and then he was so excited, so intoxicated, as it 
 were, by his own strong words, that he strode down 
 the narrow alley as if he were marching to victory. 
 And yet the alley itself was peace personified. It 
 was dark no longer, for the great silver shield of the 
 moon hung on the notched ribbon of pale sky be- 
 tween the roofs, and its light — with the nameless 
 message of peace which seems inherent in it — lay 
 thick and white down to the very pavement. There 
 was scarcely a shadow anywhere save the odd fore- 
 shortened image of himself which kept pace behind 
 Ramanund's swift steps like a demon driving him to 
 his doom. 
 
 The low, wide door, however, showed like a 
 cavern, and the narrow stone stair struck chill 
 after the heat outside. Perhaps that was why the 
 young man shivered as he groped his way up- 
 wards amid the lingering scent of past incense, 
 the perfume of fallen flowers, and the faint odour 
 suggestive of the gay garments which had flut- 
 tered past not so long before. Or, perhaps, the 
 twin passions of Love and Worship, which even 
 Logarithms cannot destroy, were roused in him by 
 the memory of these things. Whatever it was, 
 something made him pause to hold his breath and 
 
70 ON THE SECOND STORY 
 
 listen on that three-cornered landing where the 
 brick and the stone met. A speckled bar of 
 moonlight glistened on the damp floor of the 
 ante-shrine and showed a dim arch or two — then 
 darkness. And all around him was that penetrat- 
 ing odour telling of things unseen, almost un- 
 known, and yet strangely familiar to his inherited 
 body and soul. 
 
 There was not a sound. That was as it should 
 be when gods slept like men. 
 
 When gods slept . . . ! 
 
 There was a sound now — the sound of his own 
 contemptuous laugh as he remembered his defiance 
 of such divinities — the sound of his own steps as 
 he passed suddenly, impulsively, into the ante- 
 shrine, feeling it was time for such as he to wor- 
 ship while She slept, helpless as humanity itself. 
 
 It was almost dark in the low-arched corridors 
 with their massive pillars surrounding the central 
 chamber on all sides. But there, in the Holy of 
 Holies, two smoking swinging lamps threw a yel- 
 low glare on the carved stone canopy wliich 
 reached up into the shadows of the vaulted roof. 
 And by their light the hideous figure of the idol 
 could be half-seen, half-imagined, through the 
 fretted panels of the iron doors fast-locked on 
 Her sleep; fretted panels giving glimpses, no 
 more, of flamboyant arms crimson as blood, and 
 
ON THE SECOND STORY 71 
 
 hung with faded flowers. Blood and flowers, 
 blood and flowers, blending strangely with that 
 lingering perfume of Womanhood and Worship 
 with which the air was heavy. 
 
 Hark ! what was that ? A step ? Impossible, 
 surely, at that hour of the night when even gods 
 sleep ! And yet lie drew back hastily into the 
 further shadows, forgetful of everything save 
 sheer annoyance at the chance of being discovered 
 in Kali's shrine. He of all men in the city ! 
 
 Yes ! it was a step in the ante-shrine. A light 
 step ; and there emerging from the darkness of 
 the corridors was a figure. A woman's figure — 
 or was it a child's ? — draped from head to foot 
 in white. Ramanund felt a throb of philanthropic 
 pity thrill through heart and brain even in his 
 relief; for this was some poor widow, no doubt, 
 come on the sly to offer her ill-omened^ prayers, 
 and though he might rely on her rapt devotion 
 allowing him to steal round the corridors unob- 
 served, the thought of the reason why she had 
 come alone filled him with compassion. Partly 
 because he was in truth a kindly soul, partly be- 
 cause he was, as it were, pledged to such com- 
 passion. 
 
 A widow certainly ; and yet surely little more 
 than a child ! So slender, so small was she that 
 1 A widow brings ill-luck with her. 
 
72 ON THE SECOND STORY 
 
 even on tiptoe her outstretched hand could not 
 reach the clapper of the big bell which hung 
 above her head. Once, twice, thrice, she tried; 
 standing full in the flare of the lamp, her veil 
 falling back from the dark head, close-cropped 
 like a boy's, and roughened almost into curls. 
 Something in the sight made Ramanund hold his 
 breath again as he watched the disappointment 
 grow to the small passionate face. 
 
 '' She will not listen — She will not hear ! No one 
 ever listens — no one ..." 
 
 It was not a cry ; it was only a girl's whisper with 
 a note of girlish fear rising above its pain, but it 
 echoed like a reveille to something which had till 
 then been asleep in Ramanund. Not listen ! Was he 
 not there in the dark listening ? Was he not ready 
 to help? — God! how young and slender she was 
 down there on her knees thrusting the chaplets she 
 had brought through the fretwork fiercely . . . 
 
 ''Mai Kali! Mai! Listen! Listen!" The clear 
 sharp voice rang passionately now, echoing through 
 the arches. "What have I done. Mother, to be 
 accursed? Why didst Thou take him from me — 
 my beautiful young husband — for they tell me he 
 was young and beautiful. And now they say that 
 Thou sendest the other for my lover — thy priest! 
 But I will not. Mother, if they kill me for it. Thou 
 wouldst not give thyself to such as he, Kali, ugly as 
 
ON THE SECOND STORY 73 
 
 Thou art — and I am pretty. Far prettier than the 
 other girls wlio have husbands. Mai Kali ! listen 
 this once — this once only ! Kill me now when 
 Thou art killing so many and give me a husband in 
 the next life ; or let me go — let me be free — free 
 to choose my own way — my own lover. Mother ! 
 Mother ! if Thou wouldst only wake ! — if Thou 
 wouldst only listen ! — if Thou wouldst only look 
 and see how pretty I am ! " 
 
 Her voice died away amid that mingled perfume 
 of love and worship, of sex and religion, which 
 seemed to lie heavy on the breath, making it come 
 short. . . . 
 
 Truly the gods might sleep, but man waked ! 
 There, in the shadow, a man looked and listened 
 till pity and passion set his brain and heart on 
 fire. 
 
 The girl had risen to her feet again in her last 
 hopeless appeal, and now stood once more looking 
 upwards at the silent bell, her hands, empty of their 
 chaplets, clenched in angry despair, and a world of 
 baffled life and youth in her childish face. 
 
 " She will not listen ! She will not wake ! " The 
 whisper, with its note of fear in it, ended in a boom- 
 ing clang which forced a vibrating response from the 
 dim arches as Ramanund's nervous hand smote the 
 big bell full and fair. She turned with a low cry, 
 then stood silent till a slow smile came to her face. 
 
74 ON THE SECOND STORY 
 
 Mai Kali had wakened indeed ! She had listened 
 also, and the lover had come. . . . 
 
 II 
 
 The moonlit nights which had so often shown two 
 ghost-like figures amid the shadows of Kali's shrine 
 had given place to dark ones. And now, save for a 
 whisper, there was no sign of life beneath the dim 
 arches, since, as a rule, those two — Raman und and 
 the woman Fate had sent him — shunned the smokj 
 flare of the lamps, and the half-seen watchfulness of 
 that hideous figure within the closed fretwork doors. 
 Yet sometimes little Anunda would insist on their 
 sitting right in the very threshold of the Mother 
 who, she said, would be angry if they distrusted Her. 
 But at other times she would meet her lover, finger 
 to lip, and lead him hastily to the darkest corner lest 
 he should wake the goddess to direful anger at this 
 desecration of Her holy place. Then again, she 
 would laugh recklessly, hang the chaplets she had 
 brought with her round his neck, cense him with 
 sweet matches, and tell him, truthfully, that he was 
 the only god she feared. 
 
 Altogether, as he sat with his arm round her, 
 Ramanund used often to wonder helplessly if it 
 were not all a dream. If so, it was not the calm 
 controlled dream he had cherished as the love story 
 
ON THE SECOND STORY 75 
 
 suitable to a professor of mathematics. The heroine 
 of that was to have been wise, perhaps a little sad, 
 and Anunda was — well ! it was difficult to say 
 Avhat she was, save absolutely entrancing in her 
 every mood. She was like a firefly on a dark night 
 flashing here and there brilliantly, lucidly ; yet giv- 
 ing no clue to her own self except this — that she 
 did not match with the exact sciences. Nor, for 
 the matter of that, with the situation ; for there 
 were grave dangers in these nightly assignations. 
 
 In addition, their surroundings were anything but 
 cheerful, anything but suitable to dreams. Cholera 
 had the whole city in its grip now, and as those two 
 had whispered of Love and Life many a soul, within 
 earshot of a man's raised voice, had passed out of 
 both into the grave. But Anunda never seemed to 
 think of these things. She was the bravest and yet 
 the timidest child alive ; at least so Ramanund used 
 to tell her fondly when she laughed at discovery, 
 and yet trembled at the very idea of marriage. 
 
 Honestly, she would have been quite satisfied to 
 have him as her lover only, but for the impossibility 
 of keeping him on those terms. An impossibility 
 because — as she told him with tears — she was only 
 on a visit to the Brahmins downstairs and would 
 have to return homewards when the daik month of 
 Kali-worship was over. And here followed one of 
 those tales — scarcely credible to English ears — 
 
7(j ON THE SECOND STORY 
 
 of the cold-blooded profligacy to whicli widows have 
 to yield as the only means of making their lives 
 bearable. Whereat Ramanund set his teeth and 
 swore he wonld have revenge some da}^ Mean- 
 while it made him all the more determined to save 
 her, and at the same time realise his cherished 
 dream of defying his world by marrying a widow. 
 Yet his boldness only had the effect of making little 
 Anunda more timid and cautious. 
 
 " What need for names, my lord," she would say 
 evasivel}^ when he pressed her for particulars of her 
 past. " Is it not enough that I am of pure Brahmin 
 race ? Before Kali, my lord need have no fears for 
 that, and I have found favour in my lord's eyes. 
 What, then, are the others to my lord? Let the 
 wicked ones go." 
 
 "But if people do such things they should be 
 punished by the law," fumed Ramanund, who, even 
 with her arms round him, and a chaplet of chumpak 
 blossom encircling his neck, could not quite forget 
 that he was a schoolmaster. " You forget that we 
 live in a new age, or perhaps you do not know it. 
 That is one of the things I must teach you, sweet- 
 heart, when we are married." 
 
 The slender bit of a hand which lay in his gave 
 a queer little clasp of denial, and the close-cropped 
 head on his shoulder stirred in a shake of inciedulity. 
 
 "AVe cannot marry. I am a widow. It would be 
 
ON THE SECOND STORY 77 
 
 better — SO " and the "so" was made donblj^ elo- 
 quent by the quiver of content with which, yiehling 
 to the pressure of his arm, she nestled closer to him. 
 Ramanund's brain whirled, as she had a knack of 
 making it whirl, but he stuck to his point manfully. 
 "Silly child! Of course we can marry. The law 
 does not forbid it, and that is all we liave to think 
 of. It is legal, and no one has a right to interfere. 
 Besides, as I told you, it is quite easy. To-morrow, 
 the darkest niglit of Kali's month, is our oppor- 
 tunity. Every one will be wearied out by excite- 
 ment" — here his face hardened and his voice rose. 
 " Excitement ! I tell you it is disgraceful that these 
 sacrifices should be permitted. I admit they are 
 nothing here to what they are down country, but 
 we of the Sacred Land should set an example. 
 The law should interfere to stop such demoralis- 
 ing, brutalising scenes. If we, the educated, were 
 only allowed a voice in such matters, if we were 
 not gagged and blindfolded from engaging in the 
 
 amelioration of our native land " he paused and 
 
 pulled himself up by bending down to kiss her in 
 Western fashion, whereat she hid her face in quick 
 shame, for modesty is as much a matter of custom 
 as anything else. "But I will teach you all this 
 when we are married. To-morrow, then, in the 
 hour before dawn, when the worshippers will be 
 drunk with wine and blood, you will meet me on 
 
78 ON THE SECOND STORY 
 
 the landing — not here, child, this will be no sight 
 for you or me then. Ah ! it is horrible even to 
 
 think of it ; the blood, the needless, reckless " 
 
 Again he pulled himself up and went on : "I shall 
 have a hired carriage at the end of the alley in 
 which we will drive to the railway station ; and 
 then, Anunda, it will only be two tickets — two 
 railway tickets." 
 
 " Two railway tickets," echoed Anunda in muffled 
 tones from his shoulder ; " I came up in the rail- 
 way from " She paused, then added quickly : 
 
 " They put me in a cage, and I cried." 
 
 " You will not be put in a cage this time," replied 
 Ramanund with a superior smile ; " you will come 
 with me, and we will go to Benares." 
 
 Her face came up to his this time anxiously. 
 " Benares ? Why Benares ? " 
 
 " Because good and evil come alike from Benares," 
 he ansAvered exultantly. "Mayhap you have been 
 there, Anunda, and seen the evil, the superstition. 
 But it is in Benares also that the true faith lives 
 still. My friend has written to his friends there, 
 and they will receive us with open arms ; virtuous 
 w^omen will shelter you till the marriage arrange- 
 ments are complete." 
 
 She shook her head faintly. " We cannot be 
 married — I am a widow," she repeated obstinately; 
 "but I will go with you all the same," Then seeing 
 
 I 
 
ON THE SECOND STORY 79 
 
 a certain reproach in his face she frowned. "Dost 
 think I am wicked, my lord? I am not wicked 
 at all ; but Mai Kali gave me a lover, not a hus- 
 band." Here the frown relaxed into a brilliant 
 smile. "My husband is dead, and I do not care 
 for dead men. I care for you, my lord, my god." 
 
 Ramanund's brain whirled again, but he clung 
 to the first part of her speech as a safeguard. 
 
 "You are foolish to say we cannot be married. 
 If you read the newspapers you would see that 
 Avidows — child- widows such as you are, heart's-de- 
 light — are married, regularly married by priests 
 of our religion. Those old days of persecution are 
 over, Anunda. The law has legalised such unions, 
 and no one dare say a word." 
 
 A comical look came to her brilliant little face. 
 "And my lord's mother — will she say nothing?" 
 
 The question pierced even Ramanund's coat of 
 culture. He fully intended telling his revered 
 parent of his approaching marriage, and the thought 
 of doing so, even in the general way which he pro- 
 posed to himself, was fraught with sheer terror. 
 What then would it be when he had to present 
 her with this daughter-in-law in the concrete? He 
 took refuge from realities by giving a lecture on 
 the individual rights of man, while Anunda played 
 like a child with the chumpak garland with which 
 she had adorned him. 
 
80 ON THE SECOND STOKY 
 
 And so with a grey glimmer the rapid dawn began 
 to dispute possession of those dim arches with the 
 smoky flare of the lamps, making those two rise 
 reluctantly and steal with echoing footsteps past the 
 malignant half-seen figure behind the closed fretwork 
 doors. The blood-red glint of those outstretched 
 arms with their suggestion of clasping and closing 
 on all within their reach, must have roused a remi- 
 niscence of that past defiance in the young school- 
 master's brain ; for he paused before the shrine, his 
 arms still round Anunda, to say triumphantly ; 
 
 "Good-bye, Kali mail Good-bye for ever." 
 
 The girl, clinging to him fearfully, looked round 
 into the shadows on either side. " Hush, my lord, 
 wdio knows whether She really sleeps ; and She is in 
 dangerous mood. They say so." Her light foot 
 marked her meaning by a tap on the echomy floor. 
 
 " What, reckless one ! " said her lover in fond jest. 
 "Hast grown so full of courage that thou wouldst 
 signal them to come ? Art not afraid what they 
 might do?" 
 
 The panic on her face startled him. " Ramu," she 
 whispered, " for my sake say it once — ' Jal Kali 
 
 ma 
 
 f> 
 
 Say it ; it will not hurt." 
 
 " Nothing will hurt, Anunda," he answered sharply. 
 " Nothing can hurt." 
 
 "Can it not? Sometimes I have fancied, down- 
 stairs, that they suspect, Ramu ! — if " 
 
ON THE SECOND STOKY 81 
 
 " If they do, what then ? To-morrow will see us 
 far away. I tell you the times are changed. Why 
 there is a police station within hail almost. Nay, 
 sweetheart! I will not say it. Come, the dawn 
 breaks." 
 
 " For my sake, Ramu, for my sake," she pleaded, 
 even as he drew her with him, reluctant yet willing. 
 
 And now on the landing where the brick and the 
 stone met, he paused again, his pulses throbbing with 
 passion, to think that this was their last parting. 
 
 " Take heart, beloved," he whispered. " Sure I 
 am Ram and thou art Anunda. Who can hinder 
 God's happiness when He gives it?"^ 
 
 The conceit upon the meaning of their names 
 brought a faint smile to her face, and yet once more 
 she whispered doubtfully : "But this is happiness. 
 Ah, Ramu! it would be better — so " 
 
 " It will be better," he corrected. " It is quite 
 easy, heart's beloved. A hired carriage and two 
 railway tickets, that is all ! As for Mai Kali — I 
 defy her ! " 
 
 Suddenly through the darkness, which seemed to 
 hold them closer to each other, came a sound making 
 them start asunder. It was the clang of the bell 
 which hung before the shrine. 
 
 " Kali ma ! Kali ma ! " Anunda's pitiful little 
 sobbing cry blent with the clang as she lied down- 
 1 Ram anund. Bam, God ; anund, happiness. 
 
82 ON THE SECOND STORY 
 
 stairs, and the mingled sound sent a strange thrill of 
 fear to Ramanund's heart. Kali herself could not 
 have heard ; but if there had been others beside 
 themselves amid the shadows? 
 
 He climbed to his lodging on the roof full of vague 
 anxiety and honest relief that the strain and the 
 stress and the passion of the last fortnight was so 
 nearly at an end. It was lucky, he told himself, 
 that it had happened during holiday time, or the 
 exact sciences must have suffered — for of course 
 the idea of Anunda's yielding to them was preposter- 
 ous ; Anunda who had made him forget everything 
 save that he was her lover. He fell asleep thinking 
 of her, and slept even through the wailing which 
 arose ere long in the next lodging. The wailing of 
 a household over an only son reft from it by Kali ma. 
 
 "The wrath of the gods is on the house," said 
 Ramanund's widowed mother when he came down 
 late next morning. " And I wonder not when chil- 
 dren disobey their parents. But I will hear thy 
 excuses no longer, Ramo. God knows but my 
 slackness hitherto hath been the cause of that poor 
 boy's death. The holy man downstairs holds that 
 She is angry for our want of faith, and many folks 
 believe him, and vow some sacrifice of purification. 
 So shall I, Ramanund. This very day I will speak 
 to my cousin Gungo of her daughter." 
 
 " Thou wilt do nothino^ of the kind, mother," 
 
ON THE SECOND STORY 83 
 
 replied Ramaiiuiid quietly. " I have made my own 
 arrangements. I am going to marry a widow, a 
 young and virtuous widow." 
 
 He felt dimly surprised at his own courage, per- 
 haps a little elated, seeing how severe the qualms 
 of anticipation had been ; so he looked his mother 
 in the face fairly as, startled out of all senses save 
 sight, she stared at him as if he had been a ghost. 
 Then suddenly she threw her arms above her head 
 and beat her palms together fiercely. 
 
 "J/az Kali! Mai Kali I justly art Thou in- 
 censed. Ai! Kirpo! Ai ! Bishun ! listen, hear. 
 This is the cause. My son, the light of mine 
 eyes, the son of my prayers, has done this thing. 
 He is the cursed one I He would bring a widow 
 to a Brahmin hearth. Jai Kali ma! Jai Kali 
 ma!'' 
 
 ''Mother! mother! for God's sake," pleaded 
 Ramanund, aghast at the prospect of having the 
 secret of his heart made bazaar property. " Think ; 
 give me time." 
 
 " Time ! " she echoed wildly. " What time is 
 there when folks die every minute for thy sin? 
 Oh, Ramo, son of my prayer, repent — do atone- 
 ment. Lo! come with me even now and humble 
 thyself before Her feet. I will ask no more but 
 that to-day— no more." She thrust her hands 
 feverishly into his as if to drag him to the shrine. 
 
84 ON THE SECOND STORY 
 
 " For my sake, Ramo, for the sake of many a poor 
 mother, remember whose son thou art, and forsake 
 not thy fathers utterly." 
 
 "Mother!" he faltered; "mother!" And then 
 silence fell between them. For what words could 
 bridge the gulf which the rapid flood of another 
 nation's learning had torn between these two? A 
 gulf not worn away by generations of culture, but 
 reft recklessly through solid earth. Simply there 
 was nothing he felt to be said, as with a heart 
 aching at the utter impossibility of their ever 
 understanding each other, he did his best to sooth 
 her superstitious fears. 
 
 But here he was met by a conviction, an obsti- 
 nacy which surprised him ; for he had been too 
 much occupied during the last fortnight to observe 
 the signs of the times around him, and knew noth- 
 ing of the religious terror which, carefully fomented 
 by the priests as a means of extortion, had seized 
 upon the neighbourhood. When, however, it did 
 dawn upon him that the general consensus of 
 opinion lay towards a signal expression of the 
 Goddess' anger, which needed signal propitiation 
 by more numerous sacrifices, his indignation knew 
 no bounds, and carried him beyond the personal 
 question into general condemnation, so that, ere 
 many minutes were over, she was attempting to 
 sooth him in her turn. That God was above all 
 
ON THE SECOND STORY 85 
 
 was, however, their one bond of unity; in that 
 they both agreed. The truth would be made mani- 
 fest by the sickness being stayed or increased by 
 the sacrifices. Meanwhile the very thought of 
 these latter, while it roused his anger, horrified 
 his refinement into a certain silence, and kept him 
 prisoner to the roof all day for fear of meeting 
 some struggling victim on its way upstairs to the 
 second story. This did not matter so much, how- 
 ever, since all his arrangements were made, and 
 he had even taken the precaution to secure his 
 railway tickets through a branch of Cook's agency 
 which had been lately opened in the city. He 
 took them out of his pocket sometimes and looked 
 at them, feeling a vague comfort in their smug, 
 civilised appearance. Fate must needs be common- 
 place and secure, surely, with such vouchers for 
 safe conduct as these ! 
 
 So the long hot day dragged its slow length along. 
 Every now and again the death-wail, near or distant, 
 would rise in even, discordant .rhythm on the hot 
 air ; and as the sun set it began, loudly imperative, 
 under his very roof. The only son was being carried 
 out to the burning ghdt^ and the cries and sobs 
 utterly overwhelmed the shouts and shufflings of 
 feet, the moans and murmur of voices, which all day 
 long had come from the second story. It was a 
 relief that it should be so ; that the ear might no 
 
86 ox THE SECOND STORY 
 
 longer be all unwillingly on the strain to catch some 
 sound that would tell of a death-struggle in the 
 slaughter-house downstairs. And yet the scene 
 being enacted, perchance, on that three-cornered 
 landing which, for once, visualised itself to Rama- 
 nun d's clear brain, was not one in which to find 
 much consolation. The crowds of mourners edging 
 the bier down the narrow stairs, the crowd of wor- 
 shippers dragging the victims up. He wondered 
 which stood aside to give place to the other — the 
 Living or the Dead ? The flower-decked corpse 
 or the flower-decked victim ? Flowers and blood I 
 Blood and flowers for a Demon of Death who was 
 satisfied with neither! Ramanund, excited, over- 
 strained, wearied by many a sleepless night of hap- 
 piness, covered his face with his hands to shut out 
 the sight even of the book which he tried to read. 
 
 So, as the sun sunk red in the western haze leav- 
 ing the roof cooler, he fell asleep and slept soundly. 
 
 When he woke it was dark, and yet, as he stood 
 up stretching himself, a faint paling of the horizon 
 warned him that there was light beneath it — light 
 that was coming to the world. The moon? Con- 
 fused as he was by sleep, the thought came to him, 
 only to be set aside by memory. There was no 
 moon ; for this was the dark night of Kali. 
 
 The dark night ! Then that must be the dawn 
 when he had promised to meet Anunda on the 
 
ON THE SECOND STORY 87 
 
 threshold ! Was it possible that he had slept so long ? 
 Yet not too long, since the dawn had not yet come, 
 and he was ready. Hurriedly feeling for the safety 
 of those precious tickets, and taking up a Gladstone 
 bag which he had already packed, he stole down 
 from the roof cautiously; and from thence to the 
 landing. There was a new odour now blending 
 with the perfumes of the flowers, and the incense, 
 and the women: an odour which sickened him as 
 he stood waiting and watching in the now deserted 
 threshold. It was the odour of the shambles; an 
 odour which seemed also to lie heavy on the breath 
 and shorten it. 
 
 So by quick strides the grey glimmer through the 
 stone lattice grew and grew to whiteness. Yet no 
 one came, and there was no light step on the stair- 
 case below to tell of a late-comer. 
 
 "Anunda! Anunda ! " he whispered more than 
 once, even his low tones seeming to stir the heavy 
 atmosphere into waves of sweet sickening perfume. 
 Was it possible that she was waiting for him within 
 — in the old place? 
 
 That must be it, surely, or else something had 
 happened. What ? 
 
 With a beating heart he moved on into the ante- 
 shrine picking his steps in an almost morbid terror 
 of what he might be treading upon. 
 
 "■ Anunda ! Anunda I " 
 
88 ON THE SECOND STORY 
 
 There was no answer save, heavier than before, 
 that sort of scented w^ave coming back from his 
 ow^n words. 
 
 She was not there, and something must have 
 happened. . . . Not there ! Impossible, with those 
 tickets in his pocket, that hired carriage waiting at 
 the end of the alley, that police station round the 
 corner! . . . 
 
 He strode forward with renewed courage, heed- 
 less of the damp clamminess at his feet; strode 
 recklessly right into the yellow flare of the lamps. 
 Save for that ghastly crimson upon the floor, the 
 walls, the canopy, the place lay unchanged, and 
 quiet as the grave. No ! there was a change ; the 
 iron doors were open, and there, upon the low stone- 
 slab before those clutching arms, lay something. . . . 
 
 God in Heaven ! what was it ? 
 
 A head — a small dark 
 
 Ramanund's scream caught in the big bell which 
 hung above him, and the last thing he heard, as he 
 fell forward on that crimson floor, was its faint 
 
 booming echo of his own cry. 
 
 ****** 
 
 When he came to himself again, six weeks had 
 passed by. The heat was over, the cholera had 
 gone, and he la}^ in one of the new wards of a 
 new hospital whither his anxious friends had had 
 liim conveyed when they found how ill he was. 
 
ON THE SECOND STOKY 89 
 
 The very strangeness of Lis environment held him 
 silent for the first few moments of conscionsness ; 
 then with a rush it all came back upon him and, 
 weak as he was, he sat up in bed wildly. 
 
 "Anunda! Anunda! My God! the shrine! — 
 the blood ! " 
 
 "It is a bad sign," remarked the doctor to one 
 of his friends significantly when they had persuaded 
 him to lie down again quietly, more from inability 
 to sit up, than from obedience. "It is a bad sign 
 when the delusions remain after the fever has left 
 the brain. However, it is early days yet, and we 
 must hope for the best." 
 
 "You should rid your mind of such things," 
 said the pleader a week or two afterwards when, 
 despite Ramanund's growing strength of body, he 
 still reverted again and again to that terrible dark 
 night of Kali, imploring them to search out the 
 criminals and have them brought to justice. " There 
 is, pardon me, not a tittle of evidence for truth of 
 your story ; but circumstantial proof to contrary as 
 I will state categorically. First, known dislike to 
 and hatred for Kali and such like, leading to lan- 
 guage in my hearing calculated to break the peace. 
 Second, known excitement consequent perhaps on 
 general sickness, stress of examinations before holi- 
 day times, and such like, leading to general look of 
 fatigue and absent-mindedness noticeable to friends 
 
90 ON THE SECOND STORY 
 
 as myself. Third, known physical horror of blood 
 leading to much recrimination of sacrifices, and such 
 like; even to extent of shutting yourself up all day, 
 as per mother's evidence, from fear of disagreeables. 
 Finally, profound feverish sleep watched by same 
 mother with dubiosity several times, ending in 
 sleep-walk to the reeking shrine where you are 
 found by Brahmins after dawn unconscious. What 
 can be closer chain of convincing proof?" 
 
 " We have made every inquiry," said his other 
 friends soothingly, "short of informing the police; 
 and we can find no trace of what you assert. 
 Human sacrifices in times of great sickness may 
 sometimes, doubtless, be on the tapis, but this one 
 we believe is but figment of a still clouded brain. 
 You must have patience. All will come clear in 
 time." 
 
 And when he asked for his new friend, the 
 friend in whom he had partly confided his love 
 story, they shook their heads sadly. "He was 
 almost last victim to cholera," they said, " the 
 cause has lost a shining light. All the more need, 
 Ramanund, why thou shouldst shake off these idle 
 fancies, and be our leader to perfect freedom of 
 thought and action." 
 
 Perfect freedom of thought and action! Rama- 
 nund as lie lay slowly recovering of his brain fever 
 wondered if he would ever have the heart to be- 
 
ON THE SECOND STORY 91 
 
 lieve in such a thing again. Wondered if he 
 would ever again dare to call himself a repre- 
 sentative of India — that India which had killed 
 Anunda. For that the horrible sight he had seen 
 on the slab of stone beneath Kali's clutching arms 
 was no dream or delusion, but a reality, he never 
 for an instant doubted. Why they had done her 
 to death, was the only uncertainty which tortured 
 him as he lay hopelessly silent; silent because 
 there was no use in words when none believed 
 them. Had it been simply a religious sacrifice to 
 stay the plague — a sacrifice known to thousands 
 who w^ould guard the secret as a divine obligation? 
 The choice falling, naturally enough, on one who 
 was a stranger, and utterly helpless in the hands 
 of her priestly relations? Or was it merely the 
 jogis revenge for his challenge. Or was it jeal- 
 ousy. Had they discovered the intrigue, and was 
 the man who had drawn the trident of Siva on 
 his forehead also the man of whom poor little 
 Anunda had spoken with such terror? Yet what 
 did it matter, since she was dead? What did any- 
 thing matter beside the memory of that piteous whis- 
 per, "Oh Ramu! it would be better — so " 
 
 Ah! why had he tried to interfere with the old 
 ways ? — why had he sought for more — why had 
 he not let her be happy while she could, in her 
 own way? 
 
92 ON THE SECOND STORY 
 
 When he left the hospital he found his mother 
 installed in a new lodging. It would not be good 
 for him, his friends had said, to return to the old 
 environment while his mind was still clouded by 
 delusions, so she had performed the utmost act of 
 self-denial of which an Hindu woman is capable, 
 and removed herself and her belongings from the 
 house where she had lived her life. But she 
 would have done anything for Ramanund at any 
 time ; how much more so now, when the Goddess 
 had shown that She still held him as her faithful 
 servant by signs and wonders. Had She not 
 drawn him in his sleep to Her very feet, on Her 
 dark night? — he who would never cross Her 
 threshold ! And had he not been found there 
 prostrate amid the blood of sacrifices, with one of 
 Her garlands round his neck? — he who would 
 never wear a flower ! 
 
 "A garland," faltered Ramanund when she told 
 him this exultantly. Ay ! a garland which she 
 would cherisli as her dearest possession since the 
 Goddess Herself must have thrown it around him 
 — a garland which she should show him — if — if 
 he ever again talked foolishness as he had talked 
 that day when he had frightened her so, not 
 knowing that he was already in a fever. 
 
 "ShoAv it me now, mother," he said quietly. 
 
 So she showed it to him. The chumpak blossoms 
 
ON THE SECOND STORY 93 
 
 were but yellow shreds upon a string, scentless, 
 unrecognisable; here and there clogged black with 
 the blood of sacrifice which had stained them as 
 he fell. 
 
 " Take it awa}^ I " he cried fiercely, thrusting it 
 from him. '' Take it away ! Oh ! curses on the 
 cruelty — curses on the " 
 
 "•Jai Kali ma!'' interrupted his mother as she 
 laid the relic back in the little casket whence she 
 had taken it. '' Jai Kali ma! for She stayed the 
 sickness." 
 
 Ramanund looked at her in dull dazed wonder. 
 But it was true what she said. The cholera had 
 slackened from that very time when he had been 
 found lying at the Goddess' feet. 
 
GLORY-OF-WOMAN 
 
 This is tlie story of a backwater; one of those 
 still nooks sheltered by sedges whither the sere 
 and yellow leaves drift and rest, while the current 
 beyond slips by swift as ever. Why this particular 
 backwater should have called itself a Technical 
 School of Art-needlework has nothing to do with 
 the story. Briefly it was a sort of almshouse where 
 twelve old Mohammedan ladies drew a poor monthly 
 pittance of some few rupees, and sat contentedly 
 enough year after year twining gold thread on to 
 fine net. What became of the work when it Avas 
 done has also nothing to do with the story. Per- 
 haps it was sold to eke out the funds of a charity 
 which did its fair share of solacing sorrow in keep- 
 ing twelve pairs of small, soft, high-bred hands 
 from the quern-handle ; that last resource of the 
 poor in India now, as it was when the Great Mogul 
 refused to allow the importation of Western machin- 
 ery on the ground that God's best gift to the poor 
 was the millstone about their necks. 
 
 It was in this odd little courtyard, packed away 
 94 
 
GLORY-OF-WOMAN 95 
 
 decorously in the very heart of the loose-living, gam- 
 bling, gold-worker's quarter, that Glory-of-Woman 
 found shelter after many years of patient, peaceful 
 privation ; for Fakr-un-nissa (that was how her name 
 ran in the soft courtly tongue of the most brutal 
 of cities) was a Syyedani ; in other words, of the 
 poorest and proudest, too poor to bring a dowr}^ to 
 a husband of her own rank, too generous to take 
 one without it, too proud to stoop to a partner 
 beneath her — or rather too gentle, too conserva- 
 tive. There are hundreds such women in Delhi, 
 and Fakr-un-nissa had been more fortunate than 
 most, seeing that being learned in the Koran she 
 had kept body and soul together by recitations at 
 fast and festival in the zenanas^ and so been spared 
 hard labour. Perhaps it was this which made her 
 look younger than her fifty and odd years; at all 
 events there was scarcely a wrinkle on her small 
 oval face, and her tall, slender figure showed no 
 sign of age. 
 
 She was the youngest of the scholars, and every 
 evening when -the gold thread and the filmy net 
 had been locked away in a queer little carven 
 coffer, she was the last to slip her small feet into 
 one of those twelve pairs of curly shoes which all 
 day long had been ranged against the slip of wall 
 doing duty as a screen at the door, and the last 
 to use the rickety dliooli which the charity pro- 
 
96 GLORY-OF-WOMAN 
 
 videcl for the modest conveyance of the fair ones 
 to their homes. It provided a chaperone too, in 
 the shape of a big lump of a girl about twenty, 
 who sat on the steps all day chattering to the 
 passers-by, giggling at their jokes, and chewing 
 pdn. It was a queer arrangement seeing that 
 Khadjiya Khanum, the eldest of the scholars, was 
 past eighty; but then age had nothing to do with 
 the fact that she was a Syyedani^ and Juntu only 
 a gad-about. There was another pair of shoes, 
 however, placed in a corner apart from the rest; 
 for it had come to be a recognised custom in the 
 backwater that there should always be a thirteenth 
 pair of feet ready to slip into any vacancy made 
 by the sure decay which comes alike to rest as to 
 unrest. And so, five years before, wdien Fakr-un- 
 nissa had stepped into the last pair of shoes left 
 by a deserted wife who had gone down into the 
 grave leaving one forlorn daughter behind her, the 
 old ladies had cast about to choose a suitable aspi- 
 rant. Not that they really had the right to appoint 
 any one, but because experience showed them that 
 the claims of a gratuitous worker were seldom 
 overlooked when opportunity came for urging them. 
 This time the choice fell, naturally enough, on the 
 daughter of the dead scholar. Just in her teens, 
 she was hopelessly alone in the world ; for her 
 mother, after estranging her own people by a mar- 
 
GLORY-OF-WOMAN 97 
 
 riage with a Mohammedan Rajpoot, had quarrelled 
 with her husband's family; but not before little 
 Yasmin had been married, and had, according to 
 the Ranghar custom, become a widow for life by 
 the death of her childish bridegroom. For race is 
 stronger than religion and the old Rajpoot ideas 
 have survived conversion. So Yasmin in her turn 
 w^aited for a vacancy in the shoes ; or rather Noor- 
 banu waited, since the old ladies would have noth- 
 ing to do with tlie flowery, half -heathen name, and 
 set themselves diligently to transform her into a 
 " Lady-of-light." It was not altogether a successful 
 attempt, for the girl's wild Rajpoot blood waxed 
 rebellious sometimes ; but as a rule Fakr-un-nissa's 
 soft voice with its polished periods and careful 
 intonation would bring her back to obedience. 
 
 " Lo I thou shouldst mind me. Heart's Delight," 
 Glory-of- Woman would say with a smile. " Do I 
 not stand in Thy mother's shoes ? Thou art young 
 now, Yasmina ; so was I once ; yet thou wilt be as 
 I am, some day." 
 
 And Yasmina would make a face. "Well! that 
 is better than being like Khadjiya Khanum, or 
 Maimana Begum with her little eyes." 
 
 So the years passed bringing no blank to the roll 
 of high-sounding names, no break in the row of 
 shoes, no vacant place in the semicircle of old 
 women which chased the sunshine round the court 
 
98 GLORY-OF-AYOMAN 
 
 during the cold months, and the shade during the 
 hot ones. For they felt the stress of the seasons 
 in their old bones. Otherwise winter and summer 
 were alike to them ; as was the green leaf and the 
 sere since they had never seen either. But Yasmin 
 felt the spring-time in her blood and began to weary 
 of being at every one's beck and call. 
 
 " She is a Ranghar ! Bury a dog's tail for twelve 
 years, and it will still be crooked," said Maimana 
 Begum. She was full to the brim of proverbial 
 wisdom, and had a little clique of her own in that 
 semicircle of flimsy net, glittering gold thread, and 
 withered hands. Mumtaza Mahul's head, and those 
 of half a dozen Lights, or Desires, or Ornaments 
 of the Palace, the World, or^ of Woman, wagged 
 in assent to her words. It was easy to change a 
 name but not a nature ; and had every one heard 
 that some one had seen Noor-Banu talking to a 
 woman with whom she ought not to have been 
 talking ? 
 
 Glory-of-Woman's thin face grew eager. " 'Tis 
 a cousin, Mai Kliadjiya. The girl told me of it 
 and I have inquired. A cousin of the father's, 
 married — yea ! married, indeed, to a trooper, like 
 he is, serving the Sirkar somewhere. Such folks 
 lose hold on old ways, yet mean no harm. We 
 must not judge them as ourselves." 
 
 " Wdh, Fakr-un-nissa I Wouldjt say the Devil 
 
GLORY-OF-WOMAN 99 
 
 meant no harm next. Thy heart spoils thy faith. 
 I marvel at thee, thou who dost fast and pray 
 more than is needful." 
 
 The ring of bitterness in old Khadjiya's tones 
 was explained by the fact that it was nigh the end 
 of the first ten days' fast of Mohurrum-tide and 
 she had not chosen that any, despite her age, 
 should exceed her in the observance thereof. And 
 Fakr-un-nissa's zeal had raised the price of self- 
 complacency beyond reason. 
 
 " More than is needful ! " echoed INIaimana Begum 
 with a like tartness. "Art not rash to say so, 
 Mai Khadjiya? Sure the virtue of some folk is 
 situate as the tongue among thirty-two teeth. It 
 needs care to preserve itself." 
 
 The white shrouded figures chuckled. They 
 were not really ill-humoured, or evilly disposed 
 towards Glory-of- Woman ; it was simply that her 
 excellent example had made all their old bodies 
 rather fretful. "And as for the girl," continued 
 the acrid voice, "she is a cat on the wall. God 
 only knows on which side she will jump down." 
 
 Fakr-un-nissa's eyes flashed, and her fingers en- 
 tangled themselves in the gold thread. " Then, for 
 sure, it is our part to make the right side more 
 pleasant than the wrong; not to be always finding 
 fault because she is young. Yea, 'tis so ; for look 
 you, it seems ever to me that we are to blame — 
 
100 GLORY-OF-WOMAN 
 
 that we are in lier place. Five long years is it 
 since she hath waited." 
 
 Khadjiya Khanum's hands dropped from her 
 work and flew out in vehement crackings of every 
 joint against ill-luck. " Tohah., Tohah ! (For shame, 
 for shame !) Mistress Fakr-un-nissa. Die if thou 
 wilt to make room for the hussy. As for me, I 
 wait on the will of the Lord." 
 
 A murmur of assent ran tlirough the semicircle 
 once more. 
 
 '' Nay, nay ! I meant not so," protested Fakr-un- 
 nissa hastily. ''Lo, death comes to all, and goeth 
 not by age. I meant but this, — sure 'tis hard to 
 put it to words — that the old should make room 
 for the young, or make the waiting bearable." 
 
 " Tchu ! If the heart be set on a frog, what doth 
 it care for a fairy?" insisted the hoarder of other 
 folk's wisdom. "Dost mean to hint that in this 
 place the girl hath not had virtue set constantly 
 before her, ay, and preached too? It seems to 
 me that we have it almost to satiety. Is it not so, 
 sisters ? " 
 
 Once more the chuckle ran round the circle, and 
 Glory-of- Woman sat still more upright. " Amongst 
 thy other proverbs, canst not recollect the one which 
 says, 'Between the two priests the fowl killed for 
 dinner became unlawful to eat ' ? " Then the temper 
 died fi'om her face and she went on in a softer tone: 
 
GLORY-OF-^VQM.Ai^ '>,' i''> '''' ' 101 
 
 '^ I find no harm in the girl, and what wrong hath 
 she done this day more than another ? " 
 
 "No more, for sure," put in Mumtaza Mahul, 
 " since she is hite at work every day ; that is no 
 new thing, is it, sisters?" 
 
 " Yet she finishes her task as quick as any, — as I, 
 anyhow," persisted Yasmina's advocate, who having 
 come to the gold thread late in life found it apt to knot. 
 " Wdh-illdh ! What a fuss about a wilful girl," put 
 in a new^ voice. "She is no worse than others, and 
 needs restraint no more. She hath grown saucy 
 since we gave her money instead of broken victuals. 
 Put her back to the old footing, say I, when she had 
 nought of her own." 
 
 Kliadjiya Khanum's veiled head nodded sagely. 
 " Thou hast it, Hameda-banu. Lo, I, for one, know 
 not why the girl was ever given such freedom, save 
 indeed that it tallies with Fakr-un-nissa's indecent 
 hastening of Providence. I am for the old plan." 
 "And I," — "And I," — "And I," — assented a 
 chorus of set, certain voices. 
 
 Glory-of-Woman's fingers flew faster. " Then will 
 ye drive the girl from us altogether. I know it, I 
 feel it. Yea, I, Fakr-un-nissa, singer of the Koran 
 till my tone failed me, remember it; — those days 
 when some other song seemed better and one must 
 needs sing it ! Think, sisters, remember ! The eyes 
 of the body are two ; the eye of the soul is one," 
 
102 gtory^-of-tVoman 
 
 The work had dropped from her hands which were 
 stretched out in eager entreaty. " 'Tis but patience 
 for a year or two. Then, since there is no harm in 
 her, she will settle down as — as I — as I did. 'Tis 
 but the youth in her veins, and God knows that is 
 soon past for a woman ; yet one's glory remains." 
 Her voice regaining some of its jDast strength, recol- 
 lecting all its old skill under the stimulus of both 
 memory and hope, filled the little courtyard, — and 
 availed nothing. 
 
 Half an hour afterwards, struck dumb, as sensitive 
 natures are, by the stress of passion around her, she 
 was watching with stupid inaction Yasmin's final ven- 
 geance on that decorous row of curly shoes behind 
 the screening wall. To right and left, to this corner 
 and that, they sped before the reckless young feet 
 while the reckless young voice rose in mockery. 
 " Lo, I wait no longer for old women's shoes. I will 
 have new ones of my own. Khujju, and Mujju, and 
 the rest of ye can sort them for yourselves, or go 
 down to the grave one foot at a time as seemeth to 
 ye best. I care not ; I wait no longer." 
 
 One pair flew full in Maimana Begum's face, and 
 then came a pause before the last pair, an odd sound 
 between a laugh and a sob, a sudden sweep of the 
 net veil over the shoulder, and a half-defiant nod to 
 the old white fingers. " These shall sta}^ because 
 they were my mother's, and because " 
 
GLORY-OF-WUMAN 103 
 
 The next moment she was gone, leaving the twelve 
 old women sitting in the sunshine, breathless, silenced 
 by her ^^outh, her unreason, her fire. Even Fakr-un- 
 nissa had no word of defence. But after a time, 
 when Juntu, full of smiles and winks, came from the 
 steps to aid the cackle which arose as the silencing 
 effect of the shock wore away, Glory-of-Woman 
 began to feel the old pain at her heart once more. 
 
 " Because they were my mother's, and because " 
 
 She could fill up the pause in two ways : '' Because 
 they are yours, and you have been kinder than the 
 others " ; " Because they should by rights be mine." 
 Both answers were disturbing. She leaned back 
 against the wall, pressing her thin hands to the thin 
 breast which had known so little of a woman's life, 
 save only that craving for another song. 
 
 " Towards the bazaar, sayest thou ? " came Khad- 
 jiya's wrathfully satisfied voice. " To the bazaar, 
 and in Mohurrum-tide, too ! That means the 
 worst, and we were none too soon in getting rid 
 of her, Heaven be praised ! " 
 
 " The cousin lives close to the Choiulc^^'' put in 
 Fakr-un-nissa faintly. " Mayhap the girl goes there." 
 
 Juntu laughed. " The cousin is a bad one ; no 
 better." 
 
 Whereat Maimana Begum remarked sagely that 
 whether the knife fell on the melon or the melon 
 on the knife was all one ; the melon suffered. 
 
104 GLOllY-OF-WOMAN 
 
 Yasmin's reputation was hopelessly hurt by that 
 going bazaar-wards. 
 
 " For a Syyeddni perchance," retorted Juntu with 
 some acerbity. " Yet this I say ; there is no harm 
 in the girl though she be younger than some folk 
 who need dhoolis to their virtue." She hated the 
 proverb-monger who never from year's end to year's 
 end gave her a coivrie or so much even as a word 
 of thanks. And then being Mohurrum-tide, when 
 in all pious houses the Assemblage of Mourning 
 must be held, the work was folded away in the 
 old carved coffer, the desecrated shoes sorted into 
 pairs, and one by one the old ladies were smuggled 
 into the curtained dhooU and trotted away to their 
 homes, with buxom Juntu chattering and laughing 
 alongside. 
 
 "Dost recite the Mursidh'^ at the Nawab's this 
 year, Fakr-un-nissa ? " asked Humeda-banu, wrapping 
 herself carefully in a thick white veil. 
 
 Glory-of-Woman shook her head. "They have a 
 new one. Last Mohurrum I grew hoarse. Per- 
 haps 'twas the fever; it had held me for days." 
 
 "Fever I" echoed the other. "Say rather the 
 fasting. Thou hast a dead look in the face even 
 now, and as for me, God knows whether I feel 
 hungry or sick. Thou shouldst remember that thou 
 art growing old." 
 
 1 The dir<?e in honour of the martyred Hussan and Hussain. 
 
GLORY-OF-WOMAN 105 
 
 "I do remember it," said Fakr-un-nissa half to 
 herself. 
 
 In truth she did. As she sate awaiting her turn 
 for the curtained dliooli she felt very cold, very 
 helpless. Yasmin, whom she had loved, had broken 
 loose from all tradition and gone bazaar-wards. 
 The very idea was terrifying. The brain behind 
 that high narrow forehead of Fakr-un-nissa's could 
 barely grasp the situation. For fifty years it had 
 circled round the one central duty of pious seclu- 
 sion, and Yasmin's choice seemed almost incredible. 
 For there was no harm in the girl ; she had al- 
 ways been responsive to kind words. If she, Fakr- 
 un-nissa, could only have had speech with her 
 alone! The thought made her restless and sent 
 her to the door, to peep, closely veiled, round the 
 screen and watch the dliooli containing Humeda- 
 banu disappear from the steps. Yet she had done 
 her best, giving the girl in secret what she could 
 spare of the pittance; and this year there would 
 be no recitation-fees to eke out the remainder. 
 Perhaps the others were right, and this generosity 
 of hers had fostered the girl's independence. Khad- 
 jiya and Maimana would say so, for sure, if they 
 knew. Then was she to blame? — she who loved 
 the girl, who had taken the mother's shoes. The 
 mere possibility was a terror to the conscience 
 where the womanhood tliat was in her had found 
 
106 GLOKY-OF- WOMAN 
 
 its only chance of blossoming. It is the same East 
 and West. Glory-of-Woman, as she stood, tall and 
 thin, leaning against the dull brick screen, had as 
 much claim to saintship as any in the canonised 
 calendar; and wherefore not? Had not she spent 
 nearly fifty years in learning the lives of the saints 
 by heart, and chanting the dirge of martyred virtue ? 
 It came back to her dimly as she stood there. The 
 sombre dresses of the mourning assemblage, the 
 glittering Imdm-hdmh^ dressed with such care by 
 reverent hands; and then her own voice above the 
 answering chorus of moaning and sobbing. She 
 had power then, she was helpless now; helpless 
 and old, yet not old enough apparently to die; 
 though when all was said and done, it was not her 
 turn, but Khadjiya Khan urn's. Yet she had taken 
 the mother's shoes, and had sat there silent when 
 perhaps a word from her might have saved that 
 awful journey to the bazaar. Then the thought 
 came to her that the saints were never helpless,— 
 not even the blessed Fatima herself — Glory-of- 
 Woman had fasted and prayed for long days and 
 nights; she felt miserably ill in soul and body, in 
 the very miood therefore to slip her feet into the 
 pair of shoes Yasmin's recklessness had spared, and, 
 
 1 A model of the martyrs' shrine ; a permanent erection, whereas 
 the tcizzias used for the procession are afterwards burned. There 
 is a celebrated Imani-barah at Lucknow, imported from England. 
 
GLORY-OF-WOMAN 107 
 
 almost as recklessly, pass without a pause to the 
 doorstep. The next instant she was back again in 
 shelter, breathless, palpitating. Yet might it not 
 be the voice of God? And no one would know; 
 she might be back ere Juntu returned, and even if 
 she were not, the gad-about had a kind heart. Be- 
 sides, another rupee from the pittance would silence 
 her in any case. 
 
 East and West nothing is impossible to such reli- 
 gious exaltation as changed the slow current in 
 Fakr-un-nissa's veins to a stream of fire scorching 
 and shrivelling every thought save the one, — that 
 she stood in the mother's shoes yet had said no 
 word. She wrapped her thick shroud of a veil 
 tighter round her and stepped deliberately into the 
 alley. The glory of woman, its motherhood, was 
 hers indeed in that instant, though she did not 
 realise it ; though the thin breast lieaving with her 
 quickened breath had never felt the lip-clasp of a 
 child. 
 
 It was a long, low room, opening by arches to a 
 wooden balcony without, into which, half-fainting 
 with pure phj^sical fatigue, she stumbled after 
 Heaven knows what trivial — yet to her sheer igno- 
 rance almost awful — difficulties by the way. Yet 
 she was not afraid ; indeed as she had passed 
 through the crowded streets it had been wonder 
 which had come to her. That this should be a time 
 
108 GLORY-OF-WOMAN 
 
 of fasting and mourning, and yet none seem to care I 
 Had the world no time to bewail dead virtue? Had 
 it forgotten the Faith ? And this, too, was no 
 mourning assemblage, though in some of the faces 
 of the lounging men she recognised the features of 
 her own race, the race of the Prophet himself. Had 
 they forgotten also? She shrank back an instant, 
 until — beside a flaunting woman whose profession 
 was writ large enough for even fifty years of pious 
 seclusion to decipher it instinctively — she saw 
 a slender figure crouching half-sullen, half-defiant. 
 The face was still veiled, but she knew it. 
 
 " Yasmin ! " she cried breathlessly. " Come back ! 
 Come back to us ! " 
 
 The girl sprang to her feet with a fierce cry, and 
 was beside the tall white form in an instant, screen- 
 ino- it with swift arms that strove to force it back. 
 
 o 
 
 " Go ! I say go ! Why art thou here ? Thou 
 shouldst not have come hither ! Go ! See, I will 
 come also if thou wilt not go without me." 
 
 "Not so fast, my pigeon," tittered the fiaunting 
 woman, answering the half-surprised looks of the 
 men with nods and winks. '^ Thou art in my charge 
 now, since thou hast left the saints. Who is this 
 woman? Let her speak her claim." 
 
 Y^smin's hand flew to Fakr-un-nissa's mouth. 
 "Not a word, A7n7na,^ not a word. See, I will go; 
 quick, let us go." 
 
 1 A pet name for mother or nurse. 
 
GLORY-OF-WOMAN 109 
 
 The surprise had lessened, and a man's voice rose 
 with a laugh. "What, let thee go for nothing, with 
 an unknown? Nay, Mistress Chambele, that were 
 unwise. She is thy cousin ; the claims of kinship 
 must be considered." 
 
 "The claims of numbers, too," put in another. 
 " Let the veiled one unveil since she has come 
 among us." 
 
 " Nay, brothers," interrupted a third hastily in a 
 lower voice, " mayhap she is one of the saintly 
 women, and " 
 
 A laugh checked the speech. " So much the 
 better. What doth a saint here?" 
 
 Some one had barred the doorway with thrust-out 
 arm, and half a dozen others with jeering faces 
 lounged against the wall crying languidly, " Unveil, 
 unveil." But Yasmin's arms clasped close. ^'I will 
 go," she panted. " I will go with her. She, — she 
 is my mother." 
 
 Chambele's titter rang high and shrill. " Wdh ! 
 That is a tale ! See you, friends ; her motlier hath 
 been dead five years. Enough of this, little fool I 
 Thou hast made thy choice already ; there is no 
 place for thee yonder with the saints." 
 
 " She hath her mother's," cried Fakr-un-nissa, 
 freeing herself from Yasmin's hold with new 
 strength, born of the girl's words. " Lo, she speaks 
 truth, my sister ! I stand in her mother's shoes. 
 
110 GLORY-OF- WOMAN 
 
 Let her go in peace, and she shall have them 
 surely." 
 
 Something in the urbane polish of her speech 
 awoke memory in the men, and one, older than the 
 rest, said with a frown, ''Yea, 'tis enough, Chambel^; 
 let the woman go, and the child also if she wish 
 it. She will come back another day if she be of 
 this sort ; if not, there are others." 
 
 " But not without a ransom," interrupted one with 
 an evil face and evil eyes which had seen enough of 
 Yasmin's figure beneath the veil to think her pres- 
 ence gave unwonted piquancy to the business. 
 
 " Yea, a ransom, a ransom for coming here, and 
 spoiling pleasure I Let the saint pay the price of 
 the sinner ; unveil I unveil ! " cried half a dozen 
 jeering voices. 
 
 The sunshine without streamed through the 
 arches in broad bands upon the floor, but Fakr-un- 
 nissa's tall muffled figure stood in shadow by the 
 door. A fighting quail was calling boastfully from 
 a shrouded cage over the Avay ; the cries of the 
 noisy bazaar floated up to the balcony, a harmonious 
 background to Chambele's noisier laugh. Then, 
 suddenly, came a step forward into the sunlight, 
 and the heavy white veil fell in billowy curves like 
 a cloud about Fakr-un-nissa's feet. For the first 
 time in her life Glory-of-Woman stood unsheltered 
 from the gaze of men's eyes. And those eyes saw 
 
GLORY-OF-WOMAN 111 
 
 something worth seeing, despite her fifty and odd 
 years : a woman beautiful in her age, graceful as 
 ever in the sweeping wliite draperies of the graceful 
 Delhi dress ; but a woman forgetful utterly of the 
 womanhood, even of the motherhood in her, as with 
 one swift outspreading of the arms she broke into 
 the opening lines of the Mursidh, that dirge of mar- 
 tyred virtue which is as closely interwoven with all 
 that is best in the life of a Mussulman as " Hark, the 
 herald angels sing ! " is with the Christian's tender 
 memories of home ; a dirge sacred to the day and 
 the hour ; a dirge forgotten by this new world. 
 Fakr-un-nissa remembered nothing else. Many and 
 many a time listless indifferent hearts had responded 
 to the fervour of her declamation ; women's hearts, 
 it is true, and that was a woman's derisive laugh ! 
 But above it rose a man's swift curse commanding 
 silence for all save that skilful voice ; and not silence 
 only — for that was a sigh! So the cadences rang 
 truer and stronger out into the sunlight making the 
 passers-by pause to listen. 
 
 " An Assemblage at Chambele's house ! '* sneered 
 some one. " That is a sinner's ransom indeed." 
 
 But Glory-of-Woman heard nothing save those 
 responsive sighs, saw nothing but the orthodox 
 beatings of the breast with which one or two of 
 the elder men gave in to custom. 
 
 The last ameen left her still blind, still deaf. 
 
112 GLORY-OF-WOMAN 
 
 Then came a laugh. "With half her years I'd 
 take the samt before the sinner," said the man 
 with the evil face. 
 
 Glory-of-Woman stood for a second as if turned 
 to stone. Then she threw up her hands with a 
 cry and sank in a huddled heap upon the white 
 curves of her fallen veil. 
 
 " God smite your soul to eternal damnation ! " 
 cried a man's voice. 
 
 But Glory-of-Woman was to hear no man's 
 voice again. She had kept her promise, and the 
 last pair of curly shoes behind the screen was 
 vacant. In due time Noor-banu slipped into them, 
 for the eleven old ladies and Juntu made peace 
 with her for the sake of Fakr-un-nissa. 
 
 " Lo ! the ways of Providence are not our 
 ways," said Khadjiya Khanum piously over her 
 horn spectacles. "And she Avas ever in a hurry. 
 For my part I wait on the will of the Lord." 
 
 Maimana Begum cackled under her breath. 
 "Hair-oil is wasted on a bald head," she said in 
 a whisper to Humeda-banu. "Her time is near, 
 hurry or no hurry. Who comes, must go." 
 
AT THE GREAT DURBAR 
 
 He sat, cuddled up in a cream-coloured cotton 
 blanket, edged with crimson, shoo-ing away the 
 brown rats from the curved cobs of Indian corn. 
 The soft mists of a northern November hung over 
 the landscape in varying density. Heavy over the 
 dank sugar-cane patch by the well, lighter on the 
 green fodder crop, dewy among the moisture-lov- 
 ing leaves of the sprouting vetches, and here, in 
 the field of ripening maize, scarcely visible be- 
 tween the sparse stems. He was an old man 
 with a thin white beard tucked away behind his 
 ears and a kindly look on his high-featured face. 
 Every now and then he took up a little clod of 
 earth from the dry, crumbling ridge of soil which 
 divided the field he was watching from the sur- 
 rounding ones, and threw it carefully among the 
 maize, saying in a gentle, grumbling voice, '•'• Ari, 
 brothers ! Does no shame come to you ? " 
 
 It had no perceptible effect on the rats, who, 
 owing to the extreme sparsity of the crop, could 
 I 113 
 
114 AT THE GREAT DURBAPw 
 
 be seen every here and there deliberately climb- 
 ing up a swaying stem to seat themselves on a 
 cob and begin breakfast systematically. In the 
 calm, windless silence you could almost hear the 
 rustle and rasp of their sharp white teeth. But 
 Nanuk Singh — as might have been predicted from 
 his seventy and odd years of life in the fields — 
 was somewhat hard of hearing; somewhat near of 
 vision also. For when so many years have been 
 spent watching the present furrow cling to the 
 carves of the past one, in sure and certain ho^^e 
 of similar furrows in the future, or in listening to 
 the endless lamentations of a water-wheel ceasing 
 not by day or night to proclaim an eternity of 
 toil and harvest, both eyes and ears are apt to 
 grow dull towards new sights and sounds. Na- 
 nuk's had, at any rate, even though the old 
 familiar ones no longer occupied them ; fate hav- 
 ing decreed that in his old age the peasant farmer 
 should have neither furrows nor water-wheel of 
 his own. How this had come about needs a 
 whole statute book of Western laws to under- 
 stand. Nanuk himself never attempted the task. 
 To him it was, briefly, the will of God. His 
 district-officer, however, when the case fell under 
 his notice by reason of the transfer of the land, 
 thought differently ; and having a few minutes' 
 leisure from office drudgery to spare for really 
 
AT THE GREAT DURBAR 115 
 
 important work, made yet one more representa- 
 tion regarding the scandalous rates of interest, the 
 cruelty of time-foreclosures, and the general in- 
 justice of applying the maxim ''caveat emptor'' 
 to transactions in which one party is practically a 
 child and the other a Jew. A futile representa- 
 tion, of course, since the Government, so experts 
 affirm, is not strong enough to attack the Frank- 
 enstein monster of Law which it has created. 
 
 In a measure, nevertheless, old Mnuk was right 
 in attributing his ruin to fate, since it had fol- 
 lowed naturally from the death of his three sons. 
 One, the eldest, dying of malarial fever in the 
 prime of life, leaving, alas ! a young family of girls. 
 Another, the youngest, swept off by cholera just as 
 his hand began to close firmly round his dead 
 brother's plough-handle. The third, when on the 
 eve of getting his discharge from a frontier regi- 
 ment in order to take his brothers' places by his 
 father's side, being struck down ingloriously in 
 one of the petty border raids of which our Punjab 
 peasant soldiers have always to bear the brunt. 
 
 And this loss of able hands led inevitably to the 
 loss of ill-kept oxen ; while from the lack of well- 
 cattle came that gradual shrinkage of the irrigated 
 area where some crop is certain — rain or no rain — 
 which means a less gradual sinking further and 
 further into debt ; until, as had been the case with 
 
116 AT THE GREAT DURBAR 
 
 Nanuk, the owner loses all right in the land save 
 the doubtful one of toil. Even this had passed 
 from the old man's slackening hold after his wife 
 died, and the daughters-in-law, w^ith starvation star- 
 ing them in the face, had drifted away back to 
 their own homes, leaving him to live as best he 
 could on the acre or so of unirrigated land lent 
 to him out of sheer charity. For public opinion 
 still has some power over the usurer in a village 
 of strong men, and all his fellows respected old 
 Nanuk, who stood six feet two, barefoot, and had 
 tales to tell of the gentle art of singlestick as ap- 
 plied to the equitable settling of accounts in the 
 old days, before Western laws had taken the job 
 out of the creditors hands. 
 
 Strangely enough, however, Nanuk, as he sat cop- 
 ing inadequately with the brown rats, felt less re- 
 sentment against the usurer who had robbed him, 
 or the law which permitted the robbery, than he 
 did against the weather. The former had made 
 no pretence of favouring him ; the latter, year 
 after year, had tempted his farmer's soul to lavish 
 sowings by copious rain at seed time, and there- 
 inafter withheld the moisture necessary for a bare 
 return of measure for measure. Briefly, he had 
 gambled in grain, and he had lost. Lost hope- 
 lessly in this last harvest of maize, since, when the 
 sound cobs should be separated from those which 
 
AT THE GREAT DUKBAR 117 
 
 the wanton teeth had spoilt, they would not yield 
 the amount of Government revenue which the old 
 man had to pay; certainly would not do so if the 
 cobs became scarcer day by day and the rats more 
 throng. In fact, the necessity for action ere matters 
 grew worse appeared to strike Nanuk, making him, 
 after a time, draw out a small sickle and begin to 
 harvest the remaining stalks one by one. 
 
 ''BuUahl neighbour Nanuk," cried the new man 
 Avho, better equipped for the tasks with sons and 
 cattle, was driving the wheel and curving the 
 furrows for the usurer, "I would, for thy sake, 
 the task was harder. And as if the crop were not 
 poor enough, the dissolute rats must needs play the 
 wanton wdth the half of it. But, 'tis the same all 
 over the land, and between them and the revenue 
 we poor folk of the plough will have no share." 
 
 Nanuk stood looking meditatively at a very fine 
 cob out of which a pair of sharp white teeth were 
 taking a last nibble, while a pair of wicked black 
 eyes watched him fearlessly. 
 
 ''They are God's creatures also, and have a 
 right to live on the soil as we others," he said 
 slowly. 
 
 "Then they should pay the revenue," grumbled 
 Dittu. "Why should i/ou, who have no crop 
 whereon to pay? Ai terif' he added sharply to 
 one of the oxen he was driving to their work, 
 
118 AT THE GREAT DURBAR 
 
 "sleepest thou? and the well silent! Dost want 
 to bring me to Nanuk's plight?" 
 
 So with a prod of the goad, he passed on, leaving 
 old Nanuk still looking at the broAvn rat on the corn- 
 cob. Why, indeed, should he have to pay for God's 
 other creatures? In the old days justice would 
 have been meted out to such as he. The crop would 
 have been divided into heaps, so many for the owner 
 of the soil, so many for the tiller, so many for the 
 State. Then if Purameshivar'^ sent rats instead of 
 rain the heaps were smaller. That was all. And 
 if the equity of this had been patent to those older 
 rulers, who had scarcely given a thought in other 
 ways to tlie good of their subjects, why should it 
 not be patent to those new ones who, God keep 
 them ! gave justice without respect of persons, so 
 far as in them lay ? There must be a mistake 
 somewhere ; the facts could not have been properly 
 placed before the Ldt-sahih — that vice-regent of 
 God upon earth. This conviction came home slowly 
 to the old man as he finished his harvesting ; slowly 
 but surely, so that when he had spread the cobs out 
 to dry on his cotton blanket he walked over to the 
 well, and, between the whiffs of the general pipe, 
 hinted that he thought of laying the matter before 
 the authorities. " I will take the produce of my 
 field," he said, "in my hand — it will not be more 
 1 The Great God. 
 
AT THE GREAT DURBAR 119 
 
 than five seers when the good is sifted from the 
 bad — and I will say to the Ldt-saldh^ '• This is be- 
 cause Purameshwar sent rats instead of rain. Take 
 j^our share, and ask no more.' " 
 
 Dittu, the new man, laughed scornfully. " Better 
 take a rat also, since all parties to the case must 
 be present by the law." 
 
 He intended it as a joke, but Nanuk took it 
 quite seriously. " That is true," he assented ; " I 
 will take a rat also ; then there can be no mis- 
 take." 
 
 That evening, when he sat with his cronies on 
 the mud da'is beneath the jyeepul tree, where he 
 was welcome to a pull out of anybody's pipe, he 
 spoke again of his intention. The younger folk 
 laughed, but the seniors thought that it could at 
 least do no harm. Nanuk's case was a hard one; 
 it was quite clear he could not pay the revenue, 
 and it was better to go to the fountain-head in 
 such matters, since underlings could do nothing 
 but take fees. So, while the stars came out in the 
 evening sky, they sat and told tales of Nausherwan, 
 and many another worthy whose memory lingers in 
 native minds by reason of perfectly irrational acts of 
 despotic clemency, such as even Socialists do not 
 dream of now-a-days. The corn-cobs then being har- 
 vested, dried, and shelled, he set to work with the 
 utmost solemnity on rat-traps ; but here at once he 
 
120 AT THE GREAT DURBAR 
 
 realised his mistake. By harvesting his own crop 
 he had driven the little raiders further afield; and 
 though he could easily have caught one in his 
 neighbour's patch, a desire to deal perfectly fair 
 with those who, in his experience, dealt perfectly 
 fairly with facts, made him stipulate for a rat out 
 of his own. 
 
 This necessitated the baiting of his property with 
 some of the corn in order to attract the wanton 
 creatures again; and even then, though he sat for 
 hours holding the cord by which an earthen dish was 
 to be made to fall upon the unsuspecting intruder, 
 he was unsuccessful. 
 
 " Trra ! not catch rats ! " cried a most venerable 
 old pantaloon to whom he applied for advice, re- 
 membering him in his boyhood as one almost god- 
 like in his supreme knowledge of such things. 
 "Wait awhile; 'tis a trick — a mere trick — but 
 when you once know it you cannot forget it." All 
 that day the old men sat together in the sunshine, 
 profoundly busy, and towards evening they \vent 
 forth together to the field, chattering and laughing 
 like a couple of schoolboys. It was long after dusk 
 ere they returned, full of mutual recrimination. 
 The one had coughed too much, the other had 
 wheezed perpetually ; there was no catching of rats 
 possible under such circumstances. Then the old 
 pantaloon went a-hunting by himself, full of con- 
 
AT THE GREAT DURBAR 121 
 
 fidence, only to return dejected ; then Nanuk, full 
 of determination, sat up all one moonlight night 
 in the field where — now that he had no crop to 
 benefit by it — the night-dew gathered heavily on 
 every leaf and blade, on Nanuk, too, as he sat 
 crouched up in his cotton blanket, thinking of what 
 he should say to the Ldt-sahih when the rat was 
 caught, which it was not. Finally, with angry mis- 
 givings as to the capabilities of the present gen- 
 eration of boys, the old pantaloon suggested the 
 offering of one whole anna for the first rat capt- 
 ured in N^nuk's maize-field. Before the day was 
 over a score or two of the village lads, long-limbed, 
 bright-eyed, were vociferously maintaining the prior 
 claims of as many brown rats, safely confined in 
 little earthen pipkins with a rag tied round the 
 top. They stood in a row, like an offering of 
 sweets to some deity, round Nanuk's bed, for — as 
 was not to be wondered at after his night-watch — 
 he was down with an attack of the chills. That 
 was nothing new. He had had them every autumn 
 since he was born ; but he was not accustomed to 
 be surrounded on such occasions by brown rats 
 appealing to him for justice. It ended in his, with 
 feverish hands, giving one anna to each of the boys, 
 and reserving his selection until he was in a more 
 judicial frame of mind. Still, it would not do to 
 starve God's creatures, so every morning while the 
 
122 AT THE GREAT DURBAR 
 
 fever lingered — for it had got a grip on him some- 
 ]io\v — he went round the pipkins and fed the rats 
 with some of the maize. And every morning, rather 
 to his relief, there were fewer of them to feed, since 
 they nibbled their way out once they discovered 
 that the top of their prison was but cloth. So as 
 he lay, sometimes hot, sometimes cold, the idea came 
 to him, foolishly enough, that this was a process of 
 divine selection, and that if he only waited the day 
 when but one rat should remain, his mission would 
 bear the seal of success. An idea like this only 
 needs presentation to a mind, or lack of mind, like 
 old Nanuk's. So what with the harvesting and the 
 rat-catching, and the fever and the omen-awaiting, 
 it was close on the new year when, with a brown 
 rat, now quite tame, tied up in a pipkin, some five 
 seed's of good grain tied up in the corner of his 
 cotton blanket, and Heaven knows what a curious 
 conglomeration of thought bound up in his still 
 feverish brain, the old man set out from his village 
 to find the Ldt-sahib. Such things are still done 
 in India, such figures are still to be seen, making 
 some civilised people stand out of the road bare- 
 headed, as they do to a man on his way to the 
 grave — a man who has lived his life, whose day 
 is past. 
 
 Owing also to the fever and the paying for rats, 
 etc., old Nanuk's pockets were ill-provided for the 
 
AT THE GREAT DURBAR 123 
 
 journey, but that mattered little in a country where 
 a pilgrimage on foot is in itself presumptive evidence 
 of saintship. Besides, the brown rat — to which 
 Nanuk had attached a string lest one of the parties 
 to the suit might escape him on the road — was a 
 perpetual joy to the village children, who scarcely 
 knew if it were greater fun to peep at it in its pipkin 
 or see it peeping out of the old man's cotton blanket, 
 when in the evenings it nibbled away at its share of 
 Naiiuk's dinner. They used to ask endless questions 
 as to why he carried it about, and what he was going 
 to do with it, until, half in jest, half in earnest, he 
 told them he was the mucld-ee (plaintiff) and the rat 
 the mudee-dla (defendant) in a case they were going 
 to lay before the Ldt-sahih ; an explanation perfectly 
 intelligible to even the babes and sucklings, who in a 
 Punjabi village now-a-days lisp in numbers of petitions 
 and pleaders. 
 
 So the mudd-ee and mudee-dla trampled along to- 
 gether amicably, sometimes by curving wheel-tracks 
 among the furrows — ancient rights-of-way over the 
 wide fields, as transient yet immutable as the furrows 
 themselves; and there, with the farmer's eye-heritage 
 of generations, he noted each change of tint in the 
 growing wheat, from the faintest yellowing to the 
 solid dark green with its promise of a full ear to 
 come. Sometimes by broad lanes, telling yet once 
 more the strange old Indian tale of transience and 
 
124 AT THE GREAT DURBAR 
 
 permanence, of death and renewed birth, in the deep 
 grass-set ruts through whicli the traffic of centuries 
 had passed rarely, yet inevitably. And here with 
 the same knowledgeable eye he would mark the 
 homing herds of village cattle, and infer from their 
 condition what the unseen harvest had been which 
 gave them their fodder. Finally, out upon the hard 
 white high-road, so different from the others in its 
 self-sufficient straightness, its squared heaps of nodu- 
 lar limestone ready for repairs, its elaborate ar- 
 rangements for growing trees where they never 
 o-rew before, and where even Western orders will 
 not make them grow. And here Nanuk's eyes still 
 found something familiar in the great wains creak- 
 ing along in files to add their quota of corn sacks 
 to the mountain of wheat cumbering the railway 
 platforms all along the line. Yet even this was in 
 its essence new, provoking the wonder in his slow 
 brain how it could be that the increased demand 
 for wheat and its enhanced price should have gone 
 hand-in-hand with the financial ruin of the grower. 
 
 To say sooth, however, such problems as these 
 flitted but vaguely through the old man's thought, 
 and even his own spoliation was half forgotten in the 
 one great object of that long journey which, despite 
 his cheerful patience, had sapped his strength sadly. 
 To find the Ldt-sahih, to make his salaam, and bid 
 the mudee-dla-jee do so likewise, to lay the produce 
 
AT THE GREAT DURBAR 125 
 
 of the field at the sahib's feet, and say that Pura- 
 me^hwar had sent rats instead of rain — that in itself 
 was suf6cient for the old man as he trudged along 
 doggedly, his eyes becoming more and more dazed 
 by unfamiliar sights as he neared the big city. 
 
 " Bullali I " said the woman of whom he begged a 
 night's lodging. " If we were to house and feed the 
 wanderers on this road, we should liave to starve 
 ourselves. And thou art a Sikh. Go to thine own 
 people. 'Tis each for each in this world." That 
 was a new world to Nanuk. 
 
 '' Doth thy rat do tricks ? " asked the children 
 critically. '' What, none ? Trra I we can see rats 
 of that mettle any day in the drains, and there was 
 a man here yesterday whose rat cooked bread and 
 drew water. Ay ! and his goat played the drum. 
 That was a show worth seeing." 
 
 So Nanuk trudged on. 
 
 " See the Ldt-sahib^^'' sneered the yellow-legged po- 
 lice constable when, after much wandering through 
 bewildering crowds, the old Sikh found himself at a 
 meeting of roads, each one of which was barred by a 
 baton. '' Which Ldt-sahih — the big one or the little?" 
 
 " The big one," replied Nanuk stoutly. There 
 was no good in underlings ; that he knew. 
 
 Police Constable number seventy-five called over 
 to his crony number ninety-six on the next road. 
 
 " Arl^ brother ! Here is another durhari. Canst 
 
126 AT THE GREAT DURBAR 
 
 let him in on thy beat? I have no room on mine." 
 And then they both laughed, whereat old Nanuk, tak- 
 ing courage, moved on a step, only to be caught and 
 dragged back, hustled, and abused. What ! was the 
 Great Durbar for the like of him — the Great Dur- 
 bar on which lakhs and crores had been spent — the 
 Great Durbar all India had been thinking of for 
 months? Wdh! Whence had he come if he had 
 not heard of the Great Durbar, and what had he 
 thought was the meaning of the Venetian masts and 
 triumphal arches, the flags and the watered roads ? 
 Did he think such things were always ? An I if it 
 came to such ignorance as that, mayhap he would 
 not know what this was coming along the road. 
 
 It was a disciplined tramp of feet, an even glitter 
 of bayonets, a straight line of brown faces, a swing 
 and a sweep, as a company of the Guides came 
 past in their kdkhi and crimson uniform. Old 
 Nanuk looked at it wistfully. 
 
 "Nay, brother," he said, "I know that. 'Twas 
 my son's regiment, God rest him ! " 
 
 " Thou shouldst sit down, old man," said a by- 
 stander kindly. " Of a truth thou canst go no 
 further till the show is over. Hark ! there are 
 the guns again. 'Twill be Bairrmpore likely, since 
 Huriiana has gone past. Wdh ! it is a show — 
 a rare show ! " 
 
 So down the watered road, planted out in miser- 
 
AT THE GREAT DURBAR 127 
 
 able attempts at decoration with barbers' poles un- 
 worthy of a slum in the East End, came a bevy 
 of Australian horses, wedged at a trot between 
 liuge kettledrums, which were being whacked bar- 
 barically by men who rose in their stirrups with 
 the conscientious precision of a newly imported 
 competition-?(^a//(xA. Then more Australian horses 
 a«min in an orfeverie barouche lined with silver, 
 where, despite the glow of colour, the blinding 
 flash of diamonds in an Indian sun, despite even 
 the dull wheat-green glitter of the huge emerald 
 tiara about the turban, the eye forgot these things, 
 to fix itself upon the face which owned them all; 
 a face haggard, sodden, superlatively handsome even 
 in its soddenness ; indifferent, but with an odd con- 
 sciousness of the English boy who — dressed as for 
 a flower show — sat silently beside his charge. Be- 
 hind them with a clatter and flutter of pennons 
 came a great trail of wild horsemen, showing as 
 they swept past, dark, lowering faces among the 
 sharp spear points. 
 
 And the guns beat on their appointed tale, till, 
 with the last, a certain satisfaction came to that 
 sodden face, since there were none short in the 
 salute— as yet The measure of his misdoings 
 was not full as yet} 
 
 1 A reduction in the number of guns is the first punishment for 
 bad administration. 
 
128 AT THE GREAT DURBAR 
 
 The crowd ebbed and flowed irregularly to border 
 the straight white roads, where at intervals the great 
 tributary chiefs went backwards and forwards to pay 
 their State visits, but Nanuk and his rat — the plain- 
 tiff and the defendant — waited persistently for their 
 turn to pass on. It was long in coming; for even 
 when the last flash and dash of barbaric splendour 
 had disappeared, the roar of cannon began louder, 
 nearer, regular to a second in its even beat. 
 
 " That is the Xa^salute," said one man to another 
 in the crowd. " Let us wait and see the Ldt^ 
 brother, ere we go." 
 
 Nanuk overheard the words, and looked along 
 the road anxiously, then stood feeling more puzzled 
 than ever; for there was nothing to see here but 
 a plain closed carriage with a thin red and gold 
 trail of the body-guard behind it and before. The 
 sun was near to its setting, and sent a red angry 
 flare upon a bank of clouds which had risen in the 
 east, and the dust of many feet swept past in wiiirls 
 before a rising wind. 
 
 "It will rain ere nightfall," declared the crowd, 
 contentedly, as it melted away citywards. "And 
 the crops will be good, praise to God." 
 
 Once more Nanuk overheard, and this time a 
 glad recognition seemed to rouse him from a dream. 
 Yes ! the crops would be good. Down by the well, 
 on the land he and his had plouglied for so many 
 
AT THE GREAT DURBAR 129 
 
 years, the wheat would be green — green as those 
 emeralds above that sodden face. 
 
 " The Ldt has gone out," joked Constable Seventy- 
 five as he went oft" duty ; " but there are plenty of 
 other things worth seeing to such an ignoramus as 
 thou." 
 
 True; only by this time Nanuk was almost past 
 seeing aught save that all things were unfamiliar 
 in those miles and miles of regiments and rajahs, 
 electric lights and newly macadamised roads, tents 
 and make-believe gardens, all pivoted, as it were, 
 round the Royal Standard of England, which was 
 planted out in the centre of the Viceroy's camp. 
 As he wandered aimlessly about the vast canvas 
 city, hustled here, sent back there, the galloping 
 orderlies, the shuffling elephants, the carriages full 
 of English ladies, the subalterns cracking their 
 tandem whips, and the native outriders had but 
 one word for him. 
 
 " Hut ! Hut ! " (Stand back — stand back !) 
 
 A heavy drop of rain came as a welcome excuse 
 to his dogged perseverance for sheltering awhile 
 under a thorn bush. He was more tired than 
 hungry, though he had not tasted food that day; 
 and it needed a sharp nip from the defendant's 
 teeth, as it sought for something eatable in the 
 folds of his blanket, to remind him that others of 
 God's creatures had a better appetite than he. But 
 
130 AT THE GREAT DURBAR 
 
 what was he to give ? There was the five seers of 
 grain still, of course ; but who was to apportion 
 the shares ; who was to say, " This much for the 
 plaintiff, this much for the defendant, this much 
 for thj State?" The familiar idea seemed to give 
 him support in the bewildering inrush of new im- 
 pressions, and he held to it as a drowning man in a 
 waste of unknown waters clutches at a straw. 
 
 Nevertheless, the parties to the suit must not be 
 allowed to starve meanwhile, and if they took equal 
 shares surely that would be just ? 
 
 The rain now fell in torrents, and the kika7'-hush 
 scarcely gave him any shelter as, with a faint smile, 
 he sat watching the brown rat at work upon the 
 corn, and counting the number of grains the wanton 
 teeth appropriated as their portion. For so much, 
 and no more, would be his also. It was not a 
 sumptuous repast, but uncooked maize requires 
 mastication, and that took up time. So that it 
 was dark ere he stood up, soaked through to the 
 skin, and looked perplexedly at the long lines of 
 twinkling lights which had sprung up around him. 
 And hark! what was that? It was the dinner bugle 
 at a mess close by, followed, as by an echo, by an- 
 other and another and another — quite a chorus of 
 cheerful invitations to dinner. But Nanuk knew 
 nothing of such feasts as were spread there in the 
 wilderness. He liad lived all his life on wheat and 
 
AT THE GREAT DURBAR 131 
 
 lentils, though, being a Sikh, he would eat wild 
 boar or deer if it could be got, or take a tot of 
 country spirits on occasion to make life seem less 
 dreary. He stood listening, shivering a little with 
 the cold, and then went on his way, since the Ldt- 
 sahib must be found, the case decided, before this 
 numbing forgetfulness crept over everything. 
 
 Sometimes he inquired of those he met. More 
 often he did not, but wandered on aimlessly through 
 the maze of light, driven and hustled as he had 
 been by day. And as he wandered the bands of 
 the various camps were playing, say, the march 
 in " Tannhauser," or "■ Linger longer. Loo." But 
 sooner or later they all paused to break suddenly 
 into a stave or two of another tune, as the colonel 
 gave " The Queen " to his officers. 
 
 Of all this, again, Nanuk knew nothing. Even 
 at the best of times, he had been ignorant as a 
 babe unborn of anything beyond his fields, and 
 now he remembered nothing save that he and the 
 brown rat were suitors in a case against Piira- 
 meslnvar and the State. 
 
 So the night passed. It was well on into the 
 chilliest time before the dawn, when the slumber, 
 which comes to all the world for that last dead 
 hour of darkness having rid him of all barriers, 
 he found himself beneath what had been the goal 
 of his hopes ever since be had first seen its strange 
 
132 AT THE GREAT DURBAR 
 
 white rays piercing the night — the great ball of 
 electric light which crowned the flagstaff whereon 
 the Standard of England hung dank and heavy ; 
 for the wind had dropped, the rain had ceased, and 
 a thick white mist clung close even to the round 
 bole of the mast, which was set in the centre of 
 a stand of chrysanthemums. The colours of the 
 blossoms were faintly visible in the downward 
 gleam of the light spreading in a small circle 
 through the mist. 
 
 So far good. This was the " Standard of Sover- 
 eignty^'' no doubt — the ''^ Lamp of Safety'' — the 
 guide by day and night to faithful subjects seeking 
 justice before the king. This Nanuk understood ; 
 this he had heard of in those tales of Nausherwan 
 and his like, told beneath the village i^eepid tree. 
 
 Here, then, he would stay — he and the defendant 
 — till the dawn brought a hearing. He sat down, 
 his back to the flowers, his head buried in his knees. 
 And as he sat, immovable, the mist gathered upon 
 him as it had gathered in the field. But he was not 
 thinking now w^hat he should say to the Ldt-sahib. 
 He was past that. 
 
 He did not hear the jingle and clash of arms 
 which, after a time, came through the fog, or the 
 voice which said cheerfully — 
 
 " 'Appy Noo Year, to you, mate ! " 
 
 •'Same to you. Tommy, and many of 'em; 
 
AT THE GREAT DUllBxVR 133 
 
 but it's rather you nor I, for it's chillin' to the 
 vitals." 
 
 They were changing guards on this New Year's 
 morning, and Private Smith, as he took his first turn 
 under the long strip of canvas stretched as a sun- 
 shelter between the two sentry-boxes, acknowledged 
 the truth of his comrade's remark by beating his 
 arms upon his breast like any cabman. Yet he was 
 hot enough in his head, for he had been singing 
 '' Auld Lang Syne " and drinking rum for the 
 greater part of the night, and, though sufficiently 
 sober to pass muster on New Year's Eve, was drunk 
 enough to be intensely patriotic. So, as he walked 
 up and down, there was a little lilt in his step 
 which attempted to keep time to the stave of " God 
 Save our Gracious Queen," which he was whistling 
 horribly out of tune. On the morrow — or, i-ather, 
 to-day, since the dawn was at hand — there was to 
 be the biggest review in which he had ever taken 
 part; six and twenty thousand troops marching 
 up to the Royal Standard and saluting ! They 
 had been practising it for weeks, and the thrill of 
 it, the pride and power of it, had somehow got 
 into Private Smith's head — with the rum. It 
 made him take a turn beyond that strip of canvas, 
 round the flagstaff he was supposed to guard. 
 
 "'Alt! 'oo goes there?" 
 
 The challenge rang loudly, rousing Nanuk from 
 
134 AT THE GREAT DURBAR 
 
 a dream which was scarcely less unreal than the 
 past twelve hours of waking had been to his igno- 
 rance. He stumbled up stiffly — a head taller than 
 the sentry — and essayed a salaam. 
 
 " 'Ullo ! What the devil are you doin' here ? 
 Hut^ you nigger! Goramighty! wot's that?" 
 
 It was the defendant, which Nanuk had brought 
 out to salaam also, and which, alarmed at the 
 sudden introduction, began darting about wildly 
 at the end of its string. Private Smith fell back 
 a step, and then pulled himself together with a 
 violent effort, uncertain if the rat were real; but 
 the cold night air was against him. 
 
 " Wash'er-mean? — Wash'er doin'-'ere ? — Wash'er- 
 got?" he asked, conglomerately, and Nanuk, under- 
 standing nothing, went down on his knees the 
 better to untie the knot in the corner of his 
 blanket. "- Poygle,'' '^ commented Private Smith, 
 recovering himself as he looked down at the heap 
 of maize, the defendant, and the old man talking 
 about Puramesliivar. Then, being in a benevolent 
 mood, he wagged his head sympathetically. ''Pore 
 old Johnny ! wot's 'e want, with 'is rat and 'is 
 popcorn? Fine lookin' old chap, though — but we 
 licked them Sickies, and, by gum! we'll lick 'em 
 again, if need be ! " 
 
 The thought made him begin to whistle once 
 1 Pagul = mad. 
 
AT THE GllEAT DUKBAR 135 
 
 more as he bent unsteadily to look at something 
 which glittered faintly as the old man laid it on 
 the top of the pile of corn. 
 
 It was his son's only medal. 
 
 " Hillo ! " said Private Smith, bringing himself 
 np with a lurch, "so that is it, eh, mate? Gor- 
 save-a-Queen ! Now wot's up, sonny? 'Orse 
 guards been a-doing wot they didn't ought to 'ave 
 done? Well, that ain't no noos, is it, comrade? 
 But we'll drink the old lady's 'elth all the same. 
 Lordy! if you've bin doin' extra dooty on the rag 
 all night you won't mind a lick o' the lap — eh? 
 Lor' bless you! — I don' want it. I've had as 
 mush as me and Lee-Mitford can carry 'ome with- 
 out takin' a day-tour by orderly room — Woy ! you 
 won't, won't yer? Come now, Johnny, don't be a 
 fool — it's rum, I tell yer, and you Sickles ain't afraid 
 o' rum. Wot ! you won't drink 'er 'elth, you muti- 
 neering nigger? Then I'll make yer. Feel that 
 — now then, ''Ere's a 'elth unto'w her Majesty.'" 
 
 Perhaps it was the unmistakable prick of a bay- 
 onet in his stomach, perhaps it was the equally 
 unmistakable smell of the liquor arousing a crav- 
 ing for comfort in the old man, but he suddenly 
 seized the flask which Private Smith had dragged 
 from his pocket, and, throwing his head back, 
 poured the contents down his throat; the action — 
 due to his desire not to touch the bottle with his 
 
186 AT THE GREAT DURBAR 
 
 lips — giving him an almost ludicrous air of 
 eagerness. 
 
 Private Smith burst into a roar of laughter. 
 
 " Gor-save-the-Queen ! " And as he spoke the 
 first gun of the hundred and one which are fired 
 at daybreak on the anniversary of her Most Gra- 
 cious Majesty's assumption of the title Kaiser-i- 
 Hind boomed out sullenly through the fog. 
 
 But Nanuk did not hear it. He had stumbled 
 to his feet and fallen side wise to the ground. 
 ****** 
 
 "I gather, then," remarked the surgeon-captain 
 precisely, "that before gun-fire this morning you 
 found the old man in a state of collapse below the 
 flagstaff — is this so?" 
 
 Private Smith, sober to smartness and smart to 
 stiffness, saluted ; but there was an odd trepidation 
 on his face. "Yes, sir — I done my best for 'im, 
 sir. I put 'im in the box, sir, and give 'im my great- 
 coat, and I rub 'is 'ands and feet, sir. I done my 
 level best for 'im, not being able, you see, sir, to 
 go off guard. I couldn't do no more." 
 
 " You did very well, my man ; but if you had 
 happened to have some stimulant — any alcohol, for 
 instance." 
 
 Private Smith's very smartness seemed to leave 
 him in a sudden slackness of relief. " Which it 
 were a tot of rum, sir, as I 'appened to 'ave in 
 
AT THE GREAT DURBAR 137 
 
 my greatcoat pocket. It done 'im no 'arm, sir, 
 did it?" 
 
 The surgeon-captain smiled furtively. "It saved 
 his life, probably ; but you might have mentioned 
 it before. How much did he take ? " 
 
 " About 'arf a pint, sir — more nor less." Private 
 Smith spoke under his breath with an attempt at 
 regret ; then he became loquacious. " Beggin' your 
 pardon, sir, but I was a bit on myself, and 'e just 
 poured it down like as it was milk, and then 'e 
 tumbled over and I thought 'e was dead, and it 
 sobered me like. So I done my level best for 'im 
 all through." 
 
 Perhaps he had; for old Nanuk Singh found a 
 comfortable spot in which to spend his remaining 
 days when the regimental doolie carried him that 
 New Year's morning from the flagstaff to the hospi- 
 tal. He lay ill of rheumatic fever for weeks, and 
 when he recovered it was to find himself and his rat 
 quite an institution among the gaunt, listless conva- 
 lescents waiting for strength in their long dressing- 
 gowns. The story of how the old Sikh had drunk 
 the Queen's health has assumed gigantic proportions 
 under Private Smith's care, and something in the 
 humour and the pathos of it tickled the fancy of his 
 hearers, who, when the unfailing phrase, " An' so I 
 done my level best for him, I did," came to close the 
 recital, would turn to the old man and say : 
 
138 AT THE GREAT DURBAR 
 
 " Pore old Johnny — an' Gord 
 wanted with 'is rat and 'is popcorn ! " 
 
 That was true, since Nanuk Singh did not remem- 
 ber even the name of his own village ; and, though 
 he still talked about the plaintiff and the defendant, 
 Purameshwar and the State, he was apparently con- 
 tent to await his chance of a hearing at another and 
 greater durbar. 
 
THE BLUE-THROATED GOD 
 
 We sat after lunch in the stern of the steam 
 launch watching the bridge grow from the sem- 
 blance of a caterpillar hung across the horizon be- 
 tween clusters of temples and topes, to that of 
 some monstrous skeleton whose vaulting ribs rose 
 high overhead into the pale sky. 
 
 Bannerman and I had come out from England 
 together, and come up-country together; I to take 
 up work at the bridge, he on a sporting tour, with 
 letters of introduction to the chief engineer. We 
 had been doing the sights of the native city, and 
 now, in company with several officials of sorts, 
 were on our way home to the reaches above. And 
 as we surged through the yellow-brown flood we 
 talked vaguely and airily of old gods and new, of 
 Siva's religion of stern reality, and Krishna's 
 pleasure-loving cult. 
 
 "You should read Prem Sdgai\ sir," said Mr. 
 Chuckerbutt}^ the native assistant-engineer, aside to 
 Bannerman, who had given his vote for the latter; 
 
 139 
 
140 THE BLUE-THROATED GOD 
 
 " it is of much merit, containing the loves of Krishna 
 and other cognate matter." 
 
 "It's a mere question of temperament," went on 
 Bannerman, unheeding the interruption. " Some 
 people are born to one thing, some to another. I 
 was born to enjoy myself — Hullo ! what's that? " 
 
 That was a low note like a bird's, a flash in 
 the sunlight beyond the huge pier along which 
 we were edging our way up the current, and then 
 a cloop like a cork. 
 
 "Sambo," said some one. 
 
 "His name is Rudra, sir," replied Mr. Chucker- 
 butty. 
 
 "Nilkunta,! Huzoor^' suggested the captain of 
 the launch. I looked from one to the other inter- 
 rogatively. 
 
 "The bridge-diver," said the first speaker, "sees 
 after the foundations and that sort of thing — knows 
 the bottom of the river as well as most of us know 
 the top. A queer sort of animal — there he is to 
 your right." 
 
 Out of the yellow-brown flood a grave yellow- 
 brown face crowned by a curious bi'ass pot not 
 unlike a tiara, then two yellow-brown arms, remind- 
 ing me unpleasantly of snakes, curved up in the 
 overhead stroke as the swimmer slipped down to 
 where a rope hung from one of the huge ribs. He 
 1 Blue-throated ; the name of the kingfisher. 
 
THE BLUE-THROATED GOD 141 
 
 swarmecl up it like a monkey, to sit still as a 
 carven image on the outermost buttress of the pier, 
 his legs crossed under him, his hands resting on 
 his knees, his eyes fixed on the swirling water 
 below, so that the full eyelids drooping over them 
 gave them an empty, sightless look. 
 
 " By George ! " said Bannerman carelessly, " he 
 reminds me of the big idol over at the temple. 
 What's its name, Chuckerbutty ? You're posted 
 in such things ; I'm not." 
 
 The assistant-engineer, mindful of the B.A. degree 
 superadded to his ancestral beliefs, became evasive. 
 
 "Well, it doesn't matter. I mean the brute like 
 a land crab with a superfluity of arms. The brute 
 we were talking of just now who crowds life and 
 all its joys into one eternal and infernal birth and 
 death — the most uninteresting events of life to 
 my mind." 
 
 Bannerman was right. That figure on the but- 
 tress could not fail to remind one of Siva, or Maha- 
 deo, — the Creator and the Destroyer, — barring, of 
 course, the arms. And as I looked, the two which 
 the figure possessed rose slowly from its knees and 
 hovered up in the oddest fashion above its head; 
 then sank again as slowly, leaving one with 
 the impression of any number of circumambient 
 members. 
 
 " Does it when he dives," said a boy who was 
 
142 THE BLUE-THROATED GOD 
 
 watching also ; " must have thought he saw something 
 in the stream. He brings up all sorts of things." 
 
 The notion was absorbing until Chuckerbutty's 
 idiomatic English, in reply to a query of Banner- 
 man's, roused me. 
 
 " Sambo is nickname ; but indubitably verbal cor- 
 ruption of the Sanskrit Samhhu^ lord or master. 
 Rudra, real name, has equivalent synonymous mean- 
 ing. The most ancient god mentioned in Rig Veda. 
 Symbolised in eight attributes, sun, moon, water, 
 earth, air, fire, ether, and soul of man. In other 
 words, the visible and invisible univei'se — as Siva 
 the Creator, the Preserver, the Destroyer." 
 
 Chuckerbutty puffed at his cigar in quite a Euro- 
 pean fashion. 
 
 "- What rot ! " murmured Bannerman under his 
 breath. 
 
 " And as for Nilkunta," put in the boy, " that is 
 simple. It means blue-throated, and Sambo is 
 tattooed all round." 
 
 " Yet is that also name of Siva," interposed Chuck- 
 erbutty with importance. " As per Mahahliarata — 
 
 * To soften human ills dread Siva drank 
 The poisonous flood Avhich stained his azure neck.' 
 
 "Nil-kunt is also sometimes applied to the bird 
 kingfisher by Europeans ; but this is erroneous. It 
 belongs properly " 
 
THE BLUE-THROATED GOD 143 
 
 I heard no more, my thoughts being with that odd 
 figure again. It was certainly a most extraordinary 
 resemblance. 
 
 " Well, if you really are going to fish for maliseer 
 at Hurdwar, Mr. Bannerman, you should take advan- 
 tage of that man's knowledge," said the chief pom- 
 pously. " He goes on leave next week — his home is 
 somewhere in the hills — and he knows everything 
 that is to be known about fishing." 
 
 Bannerman laughed. " Back myself against him 
 any day, even on the Ganges. I expect I've as much 
 general good luck — in every way — as any one in 
 this world." 
 
 He gave you that impression. In addition he was 
 eminently handsome — if a trifle dark for a country 
 where people fight shy of any admixture of blood. 
 Extraordinarily graceful and supple too, doing every- 
 thing with extraordinary grace and skill. Beyond 
 that, rich. For the rest, cosmopolitan in mind and 
 manners. As for morals, that does not enter into 
 the equation of a pleasant chance acquaintance, and 
 the only blemish I could lay finger on was an excess 
 of jewellery. But that was a hobby of his. He was 
 for ever waylaying the passers-by and wanting to 
 make a deal for their ornaments, regardless of in- 
 jured feelings. It was a mere question of money, 
 like everything else, he asserted, and he generally 
 succeeded in getting what he fancied. Apparently 
 
144 THE BLUE-THROATED GOD 
 
 he fancied Sambo, or Rudra, or Nilkunta — which- 
 ever you choose to call him — for, a day or two 
 afterwards, the man came to me clothed in the loose 
 garments and aggressive turban usually worn by 
 Mohammedans. He looked less startling, but the 
 type of face was utterly new to me. 
 
 " I am a hunter, Huzoor,'^ he said gravely ; indeed 
 I think his face was the gravest I ever saw. " I kill 
 to live ; I live to kill. That is all. I come from 
 the mountains, and I know the river. Wherefore 
 not, since it is my birthplace ? None know it as I ; 
 others may claim it, but it is mine, and the fish also. 
 It is all one to Nil-kunt the diver, Huzoor. JEshspoon 
 bait, feather fly, or poach-net. I kill to live ; I live 
 to kill. That is the old way, the best way ; and if 
 the Huzoor comes with ' Buniah-man ' sahib, he Avill 
 catch big fish." 
 
 "And the sahib also, I hope?" 
 
 " The sahib thinks he knows, but he is a stranger 
 to the river and the old ways. He must learn them." 
 
 A week after this, Bannerman and I were en- 
 camped on the south side of the gorge through 
 which the sacred river debouches on the plains, 
 with Sambo, who was on leave, as our boatman. 
 And curiously out of place he looked in the Eng- 
 lish-built wherry which my host had insisted on 
 bringing up by rail. He had never, he said, been 
 able to stand the discomforts of a Noah's Ark, 
 
THE BLUE-THROATED GOD 145 
 
 and he did not intend to begin self-denial, even 
 though he was in the birthplace of the most as- 
 cetic cult the world had ever known ; if indeed 
 the worshippers of Siva had right on their side in 
 claiming Hurdwar as Hara-dwara — the gate of 
 Siva. For his part he inclined to the Vaishnava 
 view. Hari-dwara^ gate of Vishnu, was just as 
 likely a derivation. It was only the change of a 
 letter; and yet that made all the difference be- 
 tween believing in pleasure or penance. He talked 
 away in his reckless fashion about this as we fished 
 fruitlessly, the first evening; fruitlessly, for I was 
 crippled with a slight sprain of the wrist, and Ban- 
 nerman caught nothing. And Sambo sat gravely 
 sculling, with a perfectly immovable face, until 
 Bannerman, who was changing his fly for the 
 fiftieth time at least, leant forward suddenlj^ and 
 laid his hand on the other's wrist. 
 
 " That's a fine cat's-eye," he said, looking at a 
 ring on the supple brown finger. " How much 
 will you take for it?" 
 
 "I do not sell," replied Sambo, still without a 
 quiver of expression. The water dropped from the 
 upheld oar like molten gold. I could hear it fall 
 in the silence, as those two sat looking at each 
 other. But my eyes were on those hands clasped 
 upon each other ; they were extraordinarily alike 
 in contour and not far apart in colour. 
 
14:6 THE BLUE-THUOATED GOD 
 
 '' Ten rupees ! twenty ! forty ! " he went on. 
 "What! you won't? Here I let me see it closer. 
 I don't believe it is worth more — even to me — 
 unless I'm mistaken. Hand it over, man ! " 
 
 Bannerman turned the ring over curiously, and 
 a sudden interest came to his face. 
 
 "It isn't worth five, but I've taken a fancy to 
 it. Fifty ! a hundred ! a thousand ! " 
 
 "I do not sell," repeated Sambo indifferently. 
 
 " Not sell ! then you're a fool ! Here, catch ! " 
 
 He spun the ring like a coin high into the air. 
 Perhaps he had meant it to fall into the boat, but 
 it did not, and as I leant over in dismay I could 
 see it sinking in shimmering circles through the 
 sunlit water. 
 
 Sambo did not even seem surprised, but crossing 
 the oars leisurely proceeded to strip. 
 
 "It does not matter," he said briefly. ''Mai 
 Gunga^ is kind to me, and I know my way to 
 her bosom." 
 
 A minute or so afterwards he came up from the 
 depths with the ring fast held in his teeth. 
 
 "The fish are lying between the shallow and 
 the deep," he remarked, as if nothing had hap- 
 pened. " If the Huzoor will believe me, he will 
 catch them." 
 
 Apparently the faith was wanting, for we did 
 1 The Ganges. 
 
THE BLUE-THROATED GOD 147 
 
 not see a fin till I commenced fishing; and even 
 then the luck was all with me. Bannerman began 
 to grow restive, suggesting that in a boat "one 
 man's sport was another man's spoil"; so we moved 
 across the range of the Siwaliks to higher ground. 
 We pitched our tents between the river and a 
 backwater, where the boat — which despite my 
 advice Bannerman insisted on bringing round by 
 poad — lay moored beneath a big cotton tree. A 
 desirable resting-place certainly; cool and shadowy, 
 and haunted by many a kingfisher busy among the 
 shoals of silvery fishlets in the still water. Across 
 the river, just above its great race to the gorge 
 below, stood a group of Hindu temples backed by 
 sun-steeped slopes ablaze with flowering, scented 
 shrubs. Further up, however, the hills sank almost 
 to the level, leaving a wedge of sky clear, before 
 rising again in swift gradations of blue, cleft by 
 a purple chasm marking the further course of the 
 river towards the snows of Kedarnath. 
 
 "You live yonder, do you not?" I asked of 
 Sambo, pointing to the peaks, as I stood settling 
 my tackle. 
 
 For the first time a slow smile showed on the 
 man's fine delicate face. "No, Huzoor. I live 
 everywhere. Wherever there are things to kill, 
 and that is in most places. But not here, sahib," 
 he continued hastily, turning to Bannerman, who 
 
148 THE BLUE-THROATED GOD 
 
 was about to launcli his minnow into a likely spot. 
 " This pool is sacred to the god yonder." 
 
 And sure enough, close to the water's edge, beneath 
 the shade of a banyan tree, stood a crowned image 
 of Maha-deo, with his eight arms, his necklace of 
 snakes, and chaplet of skulls. 
 
 "Dash it all," muttered Bannerman impatiently, 
 "as if the world were not full enough of limita- 
 tions as it is ! I'll have it out with that old land 
 crab some day." 
 
 His irritation grew as the days passed bringing 
 continued ill-luck. But what wonder, he said, when 
 the fish were fed and pampered by the priests 
 morning and evening, that they would not take his 
 lure? For his part he did not believe there was 
 a fin in any other pool in the river — at least when 
 he fished it. 
 
 " The Huzoor can see, if he chooses," said Sambo 
 gravely. 
 
 " I suppose I can — as well as you, anyhow,*' 
 retorted Bannerman. 
 
 " Then let him look." As he spoke Sambo swung 
 himself into the branch of a cotton tree which, 
 swaying with his weight, scattered its huge scarlet 
 flowers on the water. Perhaps it was this, engen- 
 dering a hope of food ; perhaps it was the curious 
 low whistle he made, but instantly the calm sur- 
 face of the pool wavered, shifted, and broke into 
 
THE BLUE-THROATED GOD 149 
 
 ripples. Sambo stretched himself full length on 
 the branch and craned forward with his long blue 
 neck. 
 
 " Plenty of them, Huzoor ! Beauties ! That one 
 with the scar is full twenty sirs weight. See ! I 
 will catch it." 
 
 He slid from the branch like an otter to reappear 
 a second afterwards with the fish bent round his 
 neck like a yoke of silver. 
 
 " It is bad luck," he continued, '' and the Huzoor 
 must do pifja^ to the great god. That is the only 
 way." 
 
 Bannerman's face was a study, and to soothe 
 him I remarked that I had been lucky enough 
 without any one's help. 
 
 ''How does the Huzoor know?" asked Sambo 
 boldly. "If he had been up by dawn he might 
 have thought otherwise, since the blood of the 
 cock I sacrificed in his name still reddens the feet 
 of Ishwara." 
 
 " The devil you did," I exclaimed laughing ; " then 
 sacrifice two for Bannerman sahib to-morrow." 
 
 The latter, however, turned on him fiercely. " If 
 you dare," he began ; then pulled himself together, 
 
 muttered something about its being "d d rot," 
 
 and went off declaring he would fish no more till 
 dusk drove the glare from the water. 
 
 ^ Worship. 
 
150 THE BLUE-THROATED GOD 
 
 I found him hours after lolling on his bed, and 
 reading a translation of the Pre^n Sdgar. It was as 
 amusing and true to life as a moderm French novel, 
 he was pleased to remark, and Krishna with his 
 milkmaids the wisest of gods. In fact after dinner, 
 as we sat smoking outside, he recurred to the sub- 
 ject, denouncing the folly of all ascetic cults from 
 Baal downwards. 
 
 " You are awfully well up in it all," I said, sur- 
 prised at his knowledge. 
 
 "Seems to come to me, to-night, somehow," he 
 replied gaily ; " things do, you know — previous state 
 of existence and all that rot. Besides, it's needed 
 when a fellow calmly suggests my making a blood 
 offering ! To a brute of a land crab too — a miser- 
 able fetish evolved from the fears of a semi-ape — a 
 creature incapable of rising above the limitations of 
 his own discomfort, counting this lovely life as mere 
 birth and death, and ignoring the joys between — 
 the only realities in the world." 
 
 He went on in this fashion, till, declaring that he 
 meant to be up by dawn, both to catch a fish and 
 prevent the blood sacrifice, he turned in. I could 
 hear him humming the refrain of a French song as 
 I sat on the scented flood of moonlight. 
 
 It was not a night surely to waste in sleep ! The 
 very flowers kept the memory of their colours, and 
 every now and again I could hear the silvery splash 
 
THE BLUE-THROATED GOD 151 
 
 of a fish rising on the level reaches beyond. Bat 
 from below came a vibration in the air like the first 
 breathing of an organ note. That was the river 
 racing to the gorge. 
 
 Scarcely knowing what I did, I strolled over to 
 the backwater which circled round the oasis of the 
 valley. A fringe of trees marked its course, and 
 behind them the hill sloped up in a tangle of jasmine 
 and pomegranate, while on the river side grew shin- 
 gle and grass tufted with oleanders. In the distance, 
 faint yet clear, came a snatch or two of Banner- 
 man's /?^i-(^e-si(?We song. And then suddenl}^, round 
 a bend, rose the low note of a kingfisher. Could 
 it be a kingfisher at that hour of the night? 
 
 By all the gods, old and new, what was this ? 
 Sambo? Could that be Sambo knee-deep in the 
 water ? Sambo with a golden tiara on his head and 
 girt about the waist with a regal robe ? Purple and 
 red — at least you guessed the colour, just as you 
 guessed that the shadowy pillar of that long neck 
 was blue. Were those his arms curved above him, 
 or were they snakes, swaying, swaying in the moon- 
 light with hooded heads and open jaws ? And was 
 that cry Sambo's or the kingfisher's? Then, and 
 not till then, I saw the bird perched on a branch 
 above the strange figure ; and even as I looked it 
 swooped straight into those swaying snake-like arms, 
 bearing something in its mouth. 
 
152 THE BLUE-THROATED GOD 
 
 I suppose in my surprise I made some exclamation, 
 for the figure turned quickly. Then, for the first 
 time, I felt sure it was only the diver in his diving 
 dress. The next instant he was beside me on the bank, 
 holding out a small land crab for my inspection. 
 
 " It is the best bait, Huzoor, Better than phantom 
 or eshspoon^ 
 
 I felt utterly bewildered and not a little aggrieved 
 at his everyday appearance. "But, but," I began, 
 "how the mischief did you make the bird? " 
 
 His hand went up to his throat as if in explana- 
 tion. "'Tis the trick of their cry, Huzoor ; besides 
 bii '3 are afraid of the holy snake ; and even the 
 Huzoor doubted his own eyes. It is good bait. If 
 Buniah-man sahib will consent to use it, he will 
 have luck." 
 
 "Of course he will use it," I replied angrily; 
 and then a sudden doubt seized me. "I don't 
 know, though. I don't seem to understand. I can't 
 see " 
 
 " The Huzoor has two eyes," he interrupted, with 
 another of his slow smiles. " Does he want a third, 
 like mine?" 
 
 A third! Then I noticed a central spot on his 
 forehead set in an oval of white. In good sooth 
 it was not unlike a third eye placed upright be- 
 tween the others. I had seen similar ones painted 
 on the images of Siva. 
 
THE BLUE-THKOATED GOD 153 
 
 "'Tis but a caste sign, Huzoor^^ he explained; 
 "I wear it sometimes." He stooped as lie spoke, 
 gathered some dust in his fingers and rubbed out 
 the mark. '' Lo ! it grows late. Midnight is past. 
 If the Huzoor rises with the sun 'tis time he slept." 
 
 True enough ; but as I strolled homewards to 
 the tent my eyes fell by chance on the shade be- 
 neath the great banyan tree where the idol stood. 
 The plinth was empty ! It lay reflected in the 
 water vacant, bare ! Scarcely knowing what I did, 
 or why I did it, I ran back to where I had left 
 Sambo, calling him by all his names in turn. But 
 there was no answer, and when in hopeless bewilder- 
 ment I retraced my steps it was only to find myself 
 mistaken. The eight-armed image stood in its ac- 
 customed place, reflected in the still water. 
 
 I was glad when the dawn came ; one of those 
 lemon-coloured dawns when the sky grows light 
 at once. 
 
 " Had the jolliest dreams," said Bannerman, com- 
 ing out of his tent. " Dreamt I was Krishna among 
 the milkmaids. Wish I could find one in this fish- 
 forsaken place, I'd Hullo, what the mischief is 
 
 that on my line?" 
 
 It was Sambo's land crab neatly impaled on a 
 Stuart tackle. I began an explanation only to stop 
 short at the — to me — absolutely incomprehensible 
 intensity of both the faces before me. Dimly I 
 
154 THE BLUE-THKOATED GOD 
 
 seemed to recognise the situation and then it es- 
 caped me again. 
 
 " Tomfoolery ! One might as well fish with that 
 ridiculous fetish at once," came Bannerman's jeer- 
 ing voice. "What was it Chuckerbutty drivelled 
 about ? eight attributes — tall order for any god ! 
 Weill here they go. No, Sambo, you may keep 
 one — the soul of a man, if there be such a 
 thing " 
 
 He had torn off five of the crab's legs, leaving 
 three ; two of them the nipping claws, which, with 
 gaping jaws, swayed about seeking reprisals. 
 
 " There ! take your offering, Siva ! snakes, and 
 souls, and all ! " He flung the maimed creature 
 full in the idol's face as we sculled past it. I shall 
 never forget Sambo's look. 
 
 "You shouldn't do that sort of thing," I remon- 
 strated in a low voice. " If the priests saw it ; — 
 then this man " 
 
 " Bah ! Nilkunta won't mind, and rupees will 
 settle anything." I tried to make him understand 
 they would not in these fastnesses of the Hindu 
 faith, but almost immediately afterwards his atten- 
 tion wandered to a woman's figure which, as we 
 rowed up the river, was outlined equally against 
 earth and sky, while figure, earth, and sky shared 
 equally the perfect reflection in the water. 
 
 " By George, a milkmaid I " he cried. She was 
 
THE BLUE-THROATED GOD 155 
 
 not unlike one in dress, certainly, but her face, 
 marked with the crescent of Siva on the forehead, 
 was of a different type , beautiful too, and Banner- 
 man simply couldn't take his eyes off her. 
 
 "Who is she? Who can she be? Sambo! 
 Rudra! Nilkunta ! whichever you are — do you 
 know who she can be?" he queried in hot excite- 
 ment. 
 
 "She is somebody's house, Hiizoor.''' The voice 
 was cold as an icicle. 
 
 " Somebody's house ! What a way to mention a 
 woman, beautiful — beautiful as — but it's the old 
 Puritanical game ! A house — a hearth mother — 
 the British matron in Eastern disguise — Mrs. 
 Grundy in a sdri. I say, Nil-kunt, whose house do 
 you think she is ? I should like to buy the freehold." 
 
 " She is your slave's house," replied the man with- 
 out a wink. 
 
 " The dickens she is," blurted out my companion, 
 somewhat abashed for the time. Perhaps that was 
 Sambo's intention. At any rate I have no means of 
 knowing if he spoke the truth or not. Indeed, look- 
 ing back on it all, I scarcely seem to know what 
 really happened, and what must have been sheer 
 fancy. Only this remains clear ; a growing antago- 
 nism between these two, a growing disinclination on 
 Bannerman's part to do anything but lounge away 
 his days. 
 
156 THE BLUE-THROATED GOD 
 
 "Can't help it, my dear fellow," he would say, 
 ''it's the air, or something. If I had a shepherd's 
 pipe I'd play it. And as for flowers ! Do you know 
 some one puts a bunch of them on my pillow every 
 night. I believe it's the milkmaid ! " 
 
 There were flowers, too, garlanded round his door, 
 while just over the way those ominous splashes of 
 red on Ishwara's feet seemed to grow deeper and 
 deeper. 
 
 At last I put the case baldly and crudely before 
 him. Something was going on which I didn't under- 
 stand, which might get him into mischief at any 
 moment, and I appealed to his good sense to put the 
 Siwaliks between him and a temptation which seemed 
 to have fascinated him. He laughed, admitted the 
 fact, and yielded ; the more readily because our time 
 was almost up. 
 
 For the first two days he was rewarded by success 
 in the lower reaches; possibly — since fish shy at 
 novelty — because we used a native Noah's Ark, our 
 own boat remaining in the backwater till we could 
 send coolies to fetch it. On the third he left the 
 river early on plea of a headache. As he had been 
 in wild spirits all day, quoting the Prem Sdgar and 
 singing French songs, I half thought he was going 
 in for fever, the day being exceptionally hot. But 
 on my return at dusk the servants asked if I would 
 wait dinner for the sahib or not. Beset by immedi- 
 
THE BLUE-THROATED GOD 157 
 
 ate misgivings I rushed into his tent, where I found 
 a slip of paper impaled like a bait on some tackle 
 lying on the table. 
 
 " Off to the divine milkmaid ! Don't wait. Vogue 
 la gale re ! " 
 
 " How far ? " I asked Sambo breathlessly. 
 
 " Twenty kos by the road — the sahib borrowed 
 the police inspector's mare — not half that over the 
 hills. But the moon is late, and the snakes love the 
 dark." 
 
 If it had been the darkness of Egypt I had no 
 choice but to follow, and half an hour afterwards I 
 was stumbling along after Sambo. Even by day- 
 light the hills, heat-cracked, rain-seared, strewn with 
 sharp rocks, were bad walking ; on a dark, hot night, 
 with the snakes' eyes gleaming from the stones, 
 they were horrible — most horrible. The straight 
 fingers of the stiff candelabra bushes pointing up and 
 up, the gnarled stunted trees growing into strange 
 shapes, reminding one involuntarily of those antedi- 
 luvian animals whose bones lie buried all along the 
 Siwaliks. A cold sweat of suspense lay upon my 
 forehead despite the scorching blast tearing down 
 the ravines ; scorching yet laden with the scent of 
 earth, as from a new-made grave. 
 
 " There has been rain in the hills beyond," said 
 Sambo's voice out of the dark. I lost sight of him 
 constantly, and at the best of times he was little 
 
158 THE BLUE-THllOATED GOD 
 
 more than another weird shape among the shadows. 
 '' Holy Maha-deo ! Have a care, Huzoor ! Let the 
 snake pass in peace! " 
 
 As he spoke something curved over my instep. 
 Such things take the nerve out of a European ; but 
 I stumbled on, peering into the darkness, trying to 
 think of Bannerman's danger, and not of that next 
 step and Avhat it might bring. But it came at last 
 — just as we dipped into a cooler, moister glen, 
 where I could hear the flying foxes hovering from 
 tree to tree — a slither of the foot, and then a spiral 
 coil up my leg gripping the muscles tight. My 
 shriek echoed from the heat-hardened, resounding 
 rocks until the whole hillside seemed peopled by my 
 fear; and even when Sambo, stooping down, un- 
 coiled the snake and threw it into the darkness, 
 I could scarcely realise that I was none the worse 
 for having put my heel on a viper's head. My 
 nerve seemed gone, I could not move except at a 
 snail's pace. 
 
 '' Time speeds," came Sambo's voice again. " The 
 moon rises but the clouds gather. If the Huzoor 
 would only not mind " 
 
 " I'd mind nothing if I could see — see as you 
 seem to do," I muttered, ashamed yet aggrieved. 
 
 ''That is it," he replied, "the Huzoor cannot see, 
 and the holy snakes do not know him as they know 
 me. If the sahib will let me put the caste mark on 
 
THE BLUE-THROATED GOD 159 
 
 his forehead as it is on mine he need not fear. It 
 can do no harm, HuzoorT 
 
 True ; besides the very idea by suggesting confi- 
 dence might restore it. 
 
 "Lest the dust should fall into the Huzoor^s 
 eyes," said the voice softly, and I felt long thin 
 fingers on my eyelids ; then something on my fore- 
 head, cold and hard*, cold and hard like a ring 
 
 The effect of such pressure when the eyes are closed 
 is always confusing, and I felt as if I was dozing off 
 when the same soft voice roused me. 
 
 " The Huzoor can see now." 
 
 I opened my eyes with a start as if from sleep. 
 Had the moon risen or whence came that pale light 
 by which I saw — what did I not see ? Everything, 
 surely, that had been created since the world began ; 
 the tiny Avatersprites in the half-stagnant pools, the 
 flying motes in the dim air. Or did I dream it? 
 Did I only feel and know that they were there, part 
 of those endless, endless seons of life and death in 
 which I was a unit. 
 
 " Sambo," I gasped feebly, but there was no 
 answer. Where was I? By degrees memory re- 
 turned. This must be the Gayatri glen, for there, at 
 the further end, stood the great image of the dread 
 Maha-deo where the pilgrims worshipped ; and 
 surely the odd light came from that gleaming cat's- 
 eye on its forehead? Surely, too, the snakes curled 
 
160 THE BLUE-THROATED GOD 
 
 and swayed, the outstretched hands opened and 
 shut? My own went up to my forehead in my 
 bewilderment, when, suddenly, the light seemed to 
 fade, till I could just see Nilkunta's blue throat as 
 he stood beside me. 
 
 " The Huzoor has scratched his forehead ; the 
 blood trickles from -it. See, I have brouglit a tulsi 
 leaf. There ! that is better." I felt the coolness 
 between my eyes, and something of my bewilder- 
 ment seemed to pass away. 
 
 "It is the Gayatri, Huzoor^ and yonder is Maha- 
 deo. He is but half-way, so we must press on. 
 The sahib can see now ; there is no fear." 
 
 None. Yet did I see them, or was I only con- 
 scious of that teeming life in the jungles ? Of the 
 tiger crouching by our path, the snakes slipping 
 from it, the deer standing to watch us, and strangest 
 of all, those shapes hiding in the dim shadows — 
 undreamt-of monsters, neither fish, flesh, nor fowl? 
 Was it a dream ? or — the idea brought a faint hys- 
 terical laugh — was it the Zoological Gardens and 
 the British Museum rolled into one ? 
 
 " We must cross the river, Huzoor^^ said the dim 
 form flitting before me ; " Buniah-man sahib will 
 have taken the boat." 
 
 I suppose it was the usual rope bridge swung 
 across the narrowing chasm of the river, but it 
 seemed to me that night as if I walked on air. 
 
THE BLUE-THROATED GOD 161 
 
 Below me, not ten feet from the lowest curve of 
 the loop, was the Ganges, wrinkled and seamed, 
 slipping giddily eastwards : overhead, a stream of 
 clouds speeding eastwards also. 
 
 "She rises fast," muttered Sambo. '•^ Mai Gunga 
 is in a hurry to-night." 
 
 The whole world was in a hurry. I seemed to 
 hear flying feet keeping time with our own. Not 
 an instant's pause was there even for breath until 
 we reached the last declivity above the little oasis 
 of the valley. The moon had risen, but the clouds 
 hurrying across her face gave greater uncertainty 
 to the scene ; still I could see a woman's figure 
 standing with widespread arms by the edge of the 
 rising river. I could see a man sending a boat 
 across the shallows with mighty strokes. And 
 above the growing rush of the water I could hear two 
 murmuring voices, which seemed to fill the world 
 with soft antagonism. " Ooina! Oomaf' from the 
 hills ; " Rddha ! Rcidha ! " from the valley. These 
 were calling to the woman, and, as in a dream, I 
 seemed to remember and understand ; Radha, the 
 queen of pleasure ; Ooma, the mother of the uni- 
 verse. Krishna's mistress, and Siva's wife ! 
 
 I looked round for Sambo. He was gone ; so I 
 ran on alone feeling there was no time to be lost. 
 :\[y foot slipped and I fell heavily. But I was up 
 again in a second unhurt, save, perhaps, for that 
 
162 THE BLUE-THROATED GOD 
 
 scratch on my forehead, whence I could feel the 
 blood flowing as I dashed into the shadow of the 
 banyan tree. Merciful heaven ! what was this ? A 
 glare as of noonday, and two radiant forms with a 
 cowering woman between them ! between the chap- 
 lets of skulls and the chaplets of flowers. And 
 behind them was an empty plinth ! P>efore I had 
 time to realise what I saw, came shouts and cries, 
 a melee and a scuftle. Armed men ran out of the 
 shadows, and then Sambo's voice was insistent, '' Run, 
 sahib, run I 'Tis your only chance. The boat — 
 tlie boat ! " Then some one hit me over the head 
 from behind, and when I came to myself I was 
 lying in the bottom of the boat. Bannerman was 
 standing beside me shaking his fist impotently at 
 the twinkling lights on the bank, and Sambo sat 
 aft steering as best he could ; for the oars had gone 
 and we were racing with the flood towards the 
 rapids. They had bound up my head with some- 
 thing, but I still felt stunned, and the rush of the 
 rising river surged in my ears through the thin 
 planks as I lay. So perhaps it was only my fancy 
 that those two sat talking, talking, arguing, arguing, 
 about the old, old problems. 
 
 Till suddenly I sat up to the clear sound of 
 Sambo's voice. 
 
 " It is not to be done, Huzoor. We are in the 
 hands of fate. If death comes, it will come, but it 
 will end in birth." 
 
THE BLUE-THROATED GOD 163 
 
 The answer was that half-jeering laugh I knew 
 so well. " I'll chance it, Nil-kunt ; I don't believe 
 you." 
 
 Bannerman had stripped to the skin, and stood 
 forward looking at the narrowing rush of the river. 
 I could see the great logs of wood, swept from 
 the hill-forests above, dancing along beside us on the 
 curved surface of the stream — so curved by the 
 very force of the current that as our boat, steered 
 by Sambo's skill, kept the centre, the dim banks 
 slid past below us. Across them, just ahead, a 
 curved thread not four feet, now the flood had 
 risen, above the water. The rope bridge ! Then I 
 understood. 
 
 "Don't!" I cried feebly. "No man — can — 
 withstand the force — of the stream." 
 
 He crooked his knees beneath the thwarts and 
 held up his arms. 
 
 " Don't " I cried again. 
 
 The boat slackened for an instant ; for an instant 
 only. Then it shot on, leaving Bannerman cling- 
 ing to the rope — shot on round the bend, leaving 
 him hanging there between birth and death. But 
 Sambo never took his watchful eyes off those merry, 
 dancing logs, which meant destruction. 
 
 The horror of it all was too much. I fainted. 
 When consciousness returned. Sambo, grave and 
 composed, was bending over me. We were drift- 
 
164 THE BLUE-THROATED GOD 
 
 ing fast into the backwater before my own bungalow, 
 and behind us, looking spectral in the iii'st glint 
 of dawn, lay the great bridge, the flare of the 
 watch-fires on its piers telling of the severity of 
 the flood. 
 
 " The Suzoor is at home," said the man quietly ; 
 ''if Buniah-man sahib had taken my advice he would 
 have been at home also." 
 
 We had been a whole day and night on the 
 river ; but he seemed no more fatigued than I, 
 who had escaped all the suspense. For the rest, 
 no trace remained of the adventure save an oval 
 scratch on my forehead surrounding the faint ves- 
 tiges of something like an eye. 
 
 " It is the mark of Siva," said my servant piously 
 — he had come down with haste by rail to bring 
 the news of my death — " doubtless he took the 
 Huzoor under his protection ; for which I will offer 
 a blood oblation without delay." 
 
 Bannerman's body was never found ; but some 
 months after, when I was inspecting foundations, 
 I heard the kingfisher's cry, and the familiar cloop 
 of a dive at the further side of the pier. Then 
 Sambo, Rudra, Nilkunta — whatever you please to 
 call him — showed his yellow-brown face above the 
 yellow-brown flood bearing a ring in his mouth: 
 a Palais Royal affair — two diamond hearts trans- 
 fixed by a ruby arrow. 
 
THE BLUE-THKOATED GOD 165 
 
 I had seen Bannerman wear it a hundred times, 
 but I had never seen the inscription engraved inside. 
 
 " Thy Hps, oh ! beloved Life, are nectar." 
 
 It was a quotation from the KrisJma or Prem 
 Sdgar ! 
 
A TOURIST TICKET 1 
 
 "Dost forget, brother, that it is the Fast?" said 
 Raheem, as with gentle, determined hand he pushed 
 the leaf-cnp of sweets further from the board on 
 which his tools lay. There were not many of them, 
 though the inlaid work upon the sandal-wood comb 
 he was making showed delicate as lace. It suited 
 the delicate hands employed upon it; in a way also 
 it suited the delicate brain behind the high narrow 
 forehead, which had a look of ill-health about the 
 temples, where the thick, coarse, black hair was also 
 delicately streaked with silver ; sure sign, in a land 
 where grayness is long deferred, of a troubled body 
 or mind. Raheem had barely touched middle age ; 
 in his case the trouble seemed to be in both body 
 and mind, to judge by his hollow eyes and the ex- 
 pression in them as they rested on a younger man, 
 wlio sat, as a visitor, on the plinth of the comb- 
 maker's shop. His feet were in the gutter, and his 
 handsome head was nodding gaily to various ac- 
 quaintances in the steady stream of passers-by; for 
 the odd little shop was wedged into the outer angle 
 1 Copyright, 1895, by Macmillaii & Co. 
 166 
 
A TOURIST TICKET 167 
 
 of a sharp bend in the narrow bazaar, so that as 
 Raheem sat workmg at his scented combs he could 
 see both ways — could see all the world, coming 
 and going, from dawn till dark. 
 
 Hoshyar laughed, nodding his handsome head 
 once more : " Yea ! I forgot that thou dost fast 
 for both of us, and pray for both of us. Mayhap 
 in the end, brother, thou mayest have to go to 
 Paradise for both of us, despite all thy pains." 
 
 The busy hand ceased to work in a gesture of 
 negation. " Say not such things, Hoshyar. We go 
 together, or go not at all. Thou knowest that was 
 my promise to the dead." 
 
 Hoshyar ate another comfit before replying with 
 a shrug of the shoulders : " 'Twas not on stamped 
 paper, though, and promises are naught nowadays 
 without it. 'Tis bad policy to be over-pious, brother. 
 As all know, the saint's beard goes in relics, and to 
 tell truth, I would be better pleased to leave Paradise 
 to those who wish for it. The world suits me. I 
 was not born to be religious, as thou wert." 
 
 The comb-maker looked at him with a sort of 
 perplexed patience. " God knows His own work," 
 he said in a low voice. " The Potter makes ; the 
 World fills. I remember when thou first wentest 
 to school, Hoshyar, how thou didst weep because 
 it prevented thee from prayer-time. And at the 
 festivals, — dost remember, brother, thou hadst a 
 
168 A TOURIST TICKET 
 
 little coat of brocade? Mother cut it from our 
 
 father's old one she cherished so " 
 
 " Old tales, old tales I " interrupted Hoshyar, 
 rising with another shrug of his shoulders. "If 
 thou hadst wished me to continue in them, why 
 didst send me to school to learn new ones ? Why 
 didst not make me a comb-carver instead of a clerk ? 
 Then might I have saved money, as thou hast, gone 
 on the great pilgrimage, as thou hast, and worn a 
 
 green turban like thine to show it, as thou dost " 
 
 A sharp spasm of pain swept over the older man's 
 face, but there was anger also in his voice. "As 
 thou wouldst have done also, clerk though thou art, 
 
 if " 
 
 " Yea, I know, I know ! " interrupted Hoshyar 
 impatiently ; " if I had not emptied the bag so 
 often. But 'tis a pity to let money lie idle. And 
 that time when thou hadst the sum needed for the 
 journey, I would have gone. I meant to have gone, 
 
 I swear it ; but the leave failed, and thou wouldst 
 
 not, surely, have had me give up my post ? Then, 
 ere the leave came, the money had gone instead. 
 
 I can never keep it lying idle, and so " 
 
 Raheem's anger faded, leaving nothing but the 
 pain. What use was there in finishing the sentence, 
 in reproaching the sinner with having done far worse 
 than let good money lie idle? The fact only made 
 the pilgrimage a greater necessity than ever, if Nakir 
 
A TOURIST TICKET 169 
 
 and. iMiinkir, the recording angels, were to be bribed 
 to leniency. "Thou shalt have the green turban 
 yet," he said quietly, "if thou wilt have patience. 
 But my combs are not like Peera's over the way : 
 he makes a dozen to my one ; ay, and sells them, 
 too, for folk buy ever the cheapest thing, nowadays, 
 even for an Eed-offering." ^ 
 
 There was almost an incredulous wonder in his 
 voice as he went on working, while Hoshyar stood 
 kicking one patent-leather shoe viciously against a 
 loose brick in the pavement. "And in the mean- 
 time the future pilgrim must live," he remarked 
 jestingly, as if, even to his effrontery, it was easier 
 to treat what he had to say thus, than in earnest. 
 "So if thou couldst spare a rupee or two from 
 the bag, Raheem " 
 
 His brother's eyes looked up, full of reproach. " I 
 know what thou wouldst say," he went on pettishly. 
 " I have had more than my share this month ; but 
 I need it sorely. The skinflints at the ofiice have 
 cut my pay for being late, — as if I could help the 
 tramcar passing full five minutes before its time, — 
 so I had to walk. And then the mixed train, which 
 is ever an hour late, chose to be punctual ; so there 
 was none to receive the waybills." He paused, and 
 seeing the doubt on Raheem's face, continued: "As 
 for the combs, if thou hast difficulty in selling, I 
 1 Equivalent to onr Easter. 
 
170 A TOURIST TICKET 
 
 might try. That one thou madest last with jasmine 
 flowers in ivory, — 'tis a deft piece of work, and I 
 know one who might buy it." 
 
 " Not Yasmeena ? " asked Raheem, his face harden- 
 ing, despite the girl-like flush which came to it. 
 
 Hoshyar laughed uneasily. '' Thou hast Yas- 
 meena on thy brain, brother. She is no worse than 
 others of her trade, and that will last till all men 
 are of thy way of thinking. Yasmeena I Nay, thou 
 knowest she hath not the money to pay for such 
 costly gew-gaws, for she is not as the others, now ; 
 she is not to be bought or sold herself." 
 
 A man more of the world than Raheem, noting 
 the change of tone in the last words, would have au- 
 gured much of Yasmeena's power over the speaker ; 
 but the comb-maker was too simple for such wisdom. 
 "If she buys it not, well and good," he replied, relax- 
 ing his frown; "but I will lend myself to no truck 
 
 between thee and her. And as for the rupees " 
 
 He sighed, yet there was no hesitation in the hands 
 which began to unlock a brass-bound box lying be- 
 side his board. " Thou wouldst rise earlier, brother," 
 he continued, almost tenderly, as he counted three 
 rupees from a little bag into the outstretched palm 
 awaiting the gift, "if thou wouldst sleep a little 
 earlier also. Lo ! I sleep and wake with the birds, 
 since my work must be of the light." 
 
 It streamed full upon him and his tools as he 
 
A TOURIST TICKET 171 
 
 spoke, a pale gold flame of sunshine, searching for 
 each flaw, each failure. 
 
 " Coulclst not make it five, Raheem?" came the 
 sordid voice. "That is bare bread." 
 
 The flame of the sunshine had found a resting- 
 place in Raheem's eyes as he looked at the beggar 
 from head to foot. " And this is salvation," he 
 replied, dropping the bag back into the box with a 
 chink, and turning the key upon it. 
 
 Salvation ! Yes ; that is what it really meant to 
 Raheem. It meant salvation for one soul ; but for 
 which? After his brother had gone he asked him- 
 self this question for the hundredth time, asked it 
 almost feverishly. Ought he to trust to the chance? 
 Was it likely that he would have time ere his life 
 ended — that life which had always been so uncer- 
 tain — to make provision for both himself and 
 Hoshyar in death? It would not do to trust 
 Hoshyar with the money. He, Raheem, must make 
 the pilgrimage for him ; and was it likely when the 
 rupees came so slowly and went so fast that the 
 hoard in the bag would be complete for years? 
 Ought he not then to make over — as according to 
 the canon, he could do if he chose — the virtue of 
 that past pilgrimage to his brother, and take the risk 
 of the coming one upon himself ? Hoshyar needed 
 virtue sorely, and yet the very thought of going 
 forth to the Judgment-Seat without the panoply in 
 
172 A TOURIST TICKET 
 
 Avliich for long years he had found peace and shelter 
 was a terror to Raheem. Could he do it? Nay, it 
 was too much ; and yet, — if that promise to the 
 dead were broken wilfully, — what good would 
 imputed righteousness be before the Throne? 
 
 And meanwhile Hoshyar his brother, a clerk in 
 the railway, sat smoking a vile cigar at the feet of 
 Yasmeena, who, lounging on a string bed, was draw- 
 ing the scented sandal-wood comb, inlaid with the 
 flowers whose name she bore, through her sleek hair. 
 " Give it me, beloved," she said scornfully ; " then 
 thy promise to the saint will be secure. I must have 
 it ; 'tis the prettiest in the bazaar ; even Gulanari, 
 with all her airs, has not its marrow. See, I will sell 
 it to her when I tire of it, and then thou canst give 
 back his three rupees to the miser. Three rupees ! 
 I shall spend that in a day. And Monday is the 
 Eed. I must have a new gown for it, or " 
 
 She did not finish her sentence, but her look was 
 eloquent ; and Hoshyar, as he lay awake that night, 
 her meaning driven home by hints of coming cold- 
 ness, racked his brains for some means of procuring 
 the dress. Raheem meanwhile lay awake also, think- 
 ing of a very different costume ; of a robe of right- 
 eousness, a wedding-garment. Those three rupees 
 given to Hoshyar had been meant for an Eed-offer- 
 ing, the Eed which drew so near. There was no 
 time to earn more. Should he go empty-handed to 
 
A TOURIST TICKET 173 
 
 give thanks for the added virtue of having been 
 granted life to keep the Great Fast, or should he 
 offer up his pilgrimage by making it over once and 
 for all to his brother? 
 
 Hoshyar had been asleep for hours, and the spar- 
 rows were astir ere Raheem found any answer. He 
 would wait another day, he told himself, before de- 
 ciding ; so he sat in the sunlight seeking perfection 
 in his delicate curves and lines, while the pale gold 
 rays peeped and pryed for flaws and failures. 
 
 '' Have you a comb like that, finished ? " asked a 
 foreign voice, making him raise his head and salamn 
 hopefully. 
 
 "None so good, Huzoor ; but I have others." 
 He took them from the brass-bound box and 
 waited; then noting the Englishman's look, said 
 wistfully: "I had one yesterday, but it, — it is 
 gone. I could finish this one quickly for the 
 Huzoor if, — if he pleased." There was a catch in 
 his breath. If he could sell something, surely he 
 might keep salvation a little longer. 
 
 "Can you finish it by Monday evening?" 
 
 It would mean working extra hours, mean work- 
 ing through the Festival when all the world 
 rested; but what was that in comparison with the 
 reward? Ten minutes afterwards Raheem was 
 putting three rupees into the bag. He had sold 
 out his stock, and, still more wonderful, had a 
 
174 A TOURIST TICKET 
 
 promise of twenty rupees more on account for 
 future work if he brought the comb punctually on 
 the Monday evening. He had not done such a busi- 
 ness for years. The Eed-offering was secure, and 
 the chances of his hoard reaching the necessary 
 amount for a speedy pilgrimage doubled. 
 
 The sun shone brighter and purer than ever on 
 the crow^ds assembled in the Eedgah, — a huge en- 
 closure, set with trees and with a mere fagade of a 
 mosque upon its western front, which lay beyond 
 the city w^alls. It shone on no more brilliant figure 
 than Yasmeena's, wlio, in the gayest of new 
 dresses, was sa3dng her prayers effusively ; for if 
 the daily life be doubtful, there is all the more 
 need to have the full advantage of festivals ; a 
 theory which obtains all over the world. But 
 Raheem, despite his green turban of the Passed 
 Pilgrim, despite the three rupees given scrupulously 
 in charity to his neighbour, felt glad to escape, 
 when prayers were over, to his work. And yet 
 the sight was one to stir most hearts : the long 
 lines of men, women, and children, — thousands 
 and thousands and thousands of them, — half-seen 
 amid the shading trees ; the boom of the firework- 
 signal from the eastern gate echoing like a cannon 
 from the wide walls, and ending in a silence like 
 the grave ; fifty thousand living, breathing beings 
 
A TOURIST TICKET 175 
 
 shoulder to shoulder, and not a sound, not a 
 quiver; only the swish of a bird's wings, only the 
 hush of a breeze among the leaves. Then sud- 
 denly came a great shout as from one throat, and 
 the long lines bent like a field of corn before a 
 might}^ wind. " God is great ; there is no god 
 but God!" 
 
 And afterwards he had been used, wifeless, 
 childless himself, to wander with kindly eyes 
 among the merry family parties picnicking beneath 
 the trees, watching the little ones' delight over 
 their new toys, the old men's delight over their 
 grandchildren. Then, often, he would hear folk 
 say in a whisper : " Look at his turban ! He is 
 a Hajji ; he has been to Mecca. Look, children, 
 he has found salvation. God grant you to follow 
 in his steps ! " But on this Eed he took off the 
 sign of saintship ere he began work; yet as he 
 worked he shivered as if he were cold without it. 
 
 The weight of the twenty rupees, however, 
 which, when the comb was finished and taken to 
 the sahib at the hotel, were duly paid into his 
 hand, seemed to make his heart feel lighter. It 
 meant two months' work, and that meant two 
 months' food. Then Hoshyar must have at least 
 five rupees. Still enough would remain to bring 
 the hoard in the brass-bound box within measu- 
 rable distance of salvation, to make it possible per- 
 
176 A TOURIST TICKET 
 
 haps for him to wear his green turban without a 
 lieart-ache. His present lack of the distinguishing 
 mark seemed to strike even the Englishman's eye, 
 making him say kindly: "T thought you wore the 
 green, and you look the sort certainly; if not I 
 have something which may interest you. Here, 
 Baboo, one of those leaflets, please. If you want 
 to hear more, go to the address of the Agency. I'm 
 off to-night." 
 
 Raheem, with a salaam, tucked the little printed 
 page into his common-place white headgear and 
 trudged homewards, tired and dispirited. It was 
 too dark to begin work again as a distraction, and 
 he had not had the heart, somehow, to prepare 
 himself a feast as on other Eeds ; so, bethinking 
 him of the leaflet in his turban, he took it out and 
 began to read. It was in the Arabic lettering of the 
 Holy Book he knew so well, and his eyes were 
 keen ; still the wording puzzled him. A pilgrimage 
 to Mecca, — exceptional opportunity, — specially 
 chartered vessel, — Firmdn, — absolute orthodoxy 
 guaranteed, — to start in a month's time, — a limited 
 number of tickets available at Moulvie Futtehdeen's, 
 near the mosque, Imambarah bazaar! Briefly, it 
 was the prospectus of a pilgrimage, which was being 
 organised as a speculation by a well-known firm, 
 whose travelling agent combined the business with 
 a private ventuie of his own in all th : artistic pro- 
 
A TOURIST TICKET 177 
 
 ductions he could pick up by the way ; whence came 
 the purchase of Raheem's combs. 
 
 " Thou hast the waybill, I see, Hajji," came a 
 cracked, wistful voice, as an old man who was pass- 
 ing paused at the plinth; an older man even than 
 his looks, for the sparse beard was palpably dyed, 
 and his dress still had a youthful jauntiness about 
 it. His face, however, betrayed him by its wrinkles. 
 He carried a huge dhol (a kind of drum) slung by 
 a cord about his neck, and as he spoke his lissom 
 fingers slid and curved over the stretched goat-skin 
 making a muffled, trembling boom. "Not that it 
 means aught to thee," lie went on in a grumble to 
 match. "Thou hast the ticket to Paradise already. 
 Would I had it also ! I go no nearer it, yet, than 
 damning myself by playing to profligates, and so 
 putting by a nest-egg against my desire. How else, 
 since drum-banging is my trade, and drums ever 
 keep bad company? But I grow old, I grow old. 
 Thus the sin is greater to a soul which should have 
 learned wisdom ; but the pay is less by reason of 
 fingers growing stiff. So I am wicked both ways, 
 and ere next year's pilgrimage this empty maw of 
 a thing may have swallowed me up, body and soul." 
 He gave a more vicious knuckling to the drum, 
 which hummed and boomed in response. 
 
 "Next year's?" echoed Raheem. 
 
 " Ay ; it comes every year, they say. There was 
 
178 A TOURIST TICKET 
 
 a man at Gulanari's, — God knows, neighbour, I must 
 burn if I die in such company, and I so old ! 'Tis 
 the drum drags me to it — seest thou I it will play 
 naught but dance-tunes, though I swear I am weary 
 of them as a lame squirrel with her nest in the 
 sky. I would play hymns, but that I am hindered ; 
 and a man's belly, Hajji Raheem, will not stay 
 empty as a drum and not shrink; so " 
 
 '^ About the pilgrimage," suggested Raheem, 
 knowing the drum-player's talk of old. 
 
 " Ay, ay, for sure ! The man — a saint for all his 
 
 company — there, seest thou, is the pull of it 
 
 Had I but the green turban, this devil of a drum 
 might take me where it would. But as I was say- 
 ing, this man said it was true, every word. He 
 had been and returned comfortably for the money." 
 
 "For so little," murmured Raheem, looking 
 once more at the price named. It was far less 
 than what his previous experience told him would 
 be required. 
 
 '' Little ! " echoed the drum-banger, reproach- 
 fully. "That comes of making decent combs. 
 Didst thou try to wheedle salvation from a thing 
 that hath neither heart nor bowels of compassion, 
 that is naught but a devil of a noise that grows 
 worse instead of better when 'tis whacked, thou 
 wouldst tell a different tale. Well, the cat, sa3^s 
 the proverb, killed seventy rats and went on a 
 
A TOURIST TICKET 179 
 
 pilgrimage, so I must wait my turn, though if I 
 have not more than seventy sins, may I never 
 phiy a measure again. I swarm w^ith them, neigh- 
 bour, as flies on sugar." He tucked the tempter 
 further under his arm, and moved on, muttering 
 to himself: "And I have but half the money 
 saved, so I am lost if I get not virtue on a re- 
 duction." 
 
 Raheem sat looking at the paper stupidly, as 
 the mingled growl of the drum and its beater 
 died away. Then suddenly those delicate hands 
 of his reached out swiftly to the brass-bound box. 
 Surely he had so much, or would have so much 
 when those twenty rupees were earned ! 
 
 So it came to pass in the following days that 
 every minute of the light found him at work on 
 the scented combs, and whenever he finished one, 
 he spent some of his scanty rest in toiling over 
 to the Imambarah bazaar, and paying over its 
 fairly earned price to swell the deposit which se- 
 cured to him one of the limited supply of tickets. 
 Finally on one night, the very night before the 
 day of starting, he packed up the combs complete, 
 took the price of the last one over to the 
 Moulvie, and received in return a neat little book- 
 let full of incomprehensible printed papers. He 
 felt almost afraid of his new possession, with its 
 gay tie to keep everything in its place within the 
 
180 A TOURIST TICKET 
 
 cover. Supposing he lost something and found 
 himself stranded? He broke out at the thought 
 into a cold sweat, and hunted hurriedly for the 
 extra ticket Avhich the Moulvie had told him was 
 to be used to the junction, since the railway 
 which passed through the town was not on the 
 direct line. He found it, an ordinary third-class 
 ticket, tucked away safely; but the fright made 
 him resolve on keeping it separate and hanging 
 the precious remainder in a bag round his neck. 
 The empty money-bag would do; or better still, 
 there were some bits left yet of Hoshyar's little coat 
 of brocade, and the ticket deserved a fine holder. 
 As he sat stitching away at the familiar frag- 
 ments, however, by the flicker of the cresset, a 
 certain remorse assailed him at having seen so 
 little of his brother during the past month. True, 
 Hoshyar, for various reasons, preferred coming to 
 see him; but ever since the Eed, Raheem had 
 been dimly conscious that something seemed to 
 have come between him and the soul he meant 
 to save. Was it that he knew in his heart it 
 ought to be already saved? There was no longer 
 any need, however, for such questions. So soon 
 as the bag was finished he would go over and 
 find Hoshyar; would find and tell him the great 
 secret, the secret which even Raheem's small store 
 of worldly wisdom had kept jealously. 
 
A TOURIST TICKET 181 
 
 A sound at the plinth made him look up, and 
 there was Hoshyar himself. Something in his face 
 made the sewer say quickly : " I set aside the money 
 for thee, Hoshyar, though thou camest not. It is 
 here, five rupees." 
 
 Hoshyar looked at the little pile with a queer 
 expression, and leaving the plinth came within the 
 reach of a whisper. " That will not serve me 
 to-night," he said quietly. "I must have thirty." 
 
 " Thirty ! " echoed Raheera. " I have it not." 
 
 ''Thou hast it in the box. See here, brother, 
 thou hast told me always that the money was mine 
 — for my salvation. Well, I need it; I must have 
 it." He spoke almost carelessly as one who has 
 a certainty of succeeding ; and in truth he thought 
 so. Once before Raheem had almost emptied the 
 bag to save him from ruin, and he had calculated 
 deliberately on its being emptied again when he 
 had bought Yasmeena her new dress out of office- 
 funds which would have to be replaced at the end 
 of the month. Raheem Avould not have given a 
 "pice for such a purpose, of course ; but with detec- 
 tion and disgrace staring his brother in the face 
 it would be different. Besides, the money was his, 
 for his salvation. " Listen, Raheem," he went on, 
 summoning up a penitential tone ; but his brother 
 interrupted him swiftly, a sort of dread in his dark, 
 hollow eyes. " There is naught in the box now, 
 
182 A TOURIST TICKET 
 
 brother," he said, with a catch of fear in his voice. 
 " I have naught but this ; " he laid his hand lightly 
 upon the booklet, and its very touch seemed to 
 bring comfort, for he smiled. " 'Tis my salvation, 
 Hoshyar, for I have given thee my pilgrimage. See, 
 I am making a holder for it. Dost recognise the 
 stuff? 'Tis a bit of the little brocade coat, brother." 
 
 Hoshyar had caught up the booklet, glanced at 
 it, and now flung it down with a passionate oath. 
 " Salvation, — fool, 'tis perdition ! " Then he laughed 
 suddenly, a loud, bitter laugh. ''That is an end," 
 he said, rising to go. " I only waste time here. 
 Good-bye, Raheem ; 'tis well thou hast a keepsake 
 of me ; thou art not likely to see much of me these 
 seven years to come." 
 
 "What dost mean, brother?" began the comb- 
 maker, fearfully; but Hoshyar, without another 
 word, turned back to the bazaar. 
 
 " 'Tis thou that art the fool," said Yasmeena, with 
 a yawn, after Hosliyar had raged for a quarter of 
 an hour of his ill-luck, of his brother's foolery, of 
 her extravagance. "Why didst not take the 
 ticket? It must be worth something, surely?" 
 Tlien a sudden interest came to her languid eyes, 
 where vice itself seemed weary. " Seest tliou, be- 
 loved, I have an idea! Old Deena the drum-player 
 is for ever talking of second-hand salvation. He 
 hath forty rupees saved for it; that would leave 
 
A TOURIST TICKET 183 
 
 me ten as commission. He need not know; I can 
 say I got it ; we of the bazaar get most things at 
 times in onr profession. And the money Avas 
 thine, — for thy salvation, remember." 
 
 Hoshyar looked at her as a man looks at a ven- 
 omous snake he has no power to kill. 
 
 " Lo, Bahoo-ji ! '' said a trollop of a girl, lounging 
 in with a giggle. " Thy brother Raheem asks for 
 thee below. 'Tis the first time, me thinks, he hath 
 entered such a house, for he stands like a child, 
 clasping a brocaded bag as if tliere were pests 
 about, and it held camphor." 
 
 Yasmeena sat up among her quilts and looked 
 at Hoshyar. " Bid the good creature to the court- 
 yard at the back," she said in a level voice. " Thou 
 wilt like to see him alone, doubtless, Hoshyar. 
 And, Merun, bid some man take him a sherbet; 
 he would be affrighted of a houri. Make it of 
 sandal-essence, girl, and bring it to me to see that 
 it is rightly flavoured. Thou likest not sandal- 
 essence, Hoshyar, 'tis true, but 'tis most refreshing 
 to those who have walked, and thou needst not 
 touch it." 
 
 Hoshyar's look changed. It was the look now 
 which a bird gives to the snake. 
 
 Raheem was at the station next day in plenty 
 of time, though, rather to his surprise, he had 
 
184 A TOURIST TICKET 
 
 slept later than usual that morning, and slept 
 heavily also ; perhaps because he seemed not to 
 have a care left in the world after Hoshyar had 
 retracted all his reproaches and bidden him go in 
 peace. Peace, — what else could remain in a man's 
 heart after that renunciation in the dark deserted 
 mosque upon the homeward way, which had left 
 Raheem's conscience clear at last, left him without 
 a wedding-garment and yet content? And now, 
 with his ticket to the junction duly snipped, his 
 bundle in one hand and the other assuring itself 
 of the booklet's safety in the brocade bag, he passed 
 down the platform in the rear of the rush from 
 the waiting-shed, looking diffidently for a seat in 
 the close-packed carriages, which with their iron 
 bars and struggling occupants looked like cages of 
 wild beasts. 
 
 " Here, neighbour Hajji, here ! " cried a cracked, 
 familiar voice full of elation, full of importance. 
 " Now that demon of a drum hath gone there is 
 room for a saint or two. He is Hajji already, my 
 masters, and will be a good companion. But 'tis 
 done cheaper nowadays, and I, I swear, have it 
 cheaper than ye all. How much, is a secret ; but 
 the Lord kept his eye on old Deena." So he 
 went on boastfully, till even his voice was drowned 
 in the great shout which went up as the train 
 moved on. He was back on his own good fortune, 
 
A TOURIST TICKET 185 
 
 however, when the hundred and fifty and odd pas- 
 sengers in their carriage, separated into scores by 
 iron bars, had subsided into a mere babel of speak- 
 ing voices. " No cover, say you ? " he replied 
 resentfully to a captious criticism on his ticket. 
 " What good is a cover ? Dew is pretty, but it 
 don't quench thirst ; so I, being a pilgrim, drink 
 plain w\ater. My ticket will take me as far as 
 thine." 
 
 Raheem, crouched up between the drum-player 
 and a fat butcher, heard vaguely, and fingered the 
 outline of his treasure in its bag of brocade, feel- 
 ing glad he had so honoured it; for it took him 
 further than Mecca, further than this world. The 
 Gates of Pearl were set ajar for him, and he could 
 see through them to the glory and glitter of Para- 
 dise. And so, after a rush through a long stretch 
 of desert sand, the train slackened, rousing him 
 from a dream. This must be the junction, and he 
 must take out the other ticket; but not while a 
 score of folk were struggling over him in their 
 rush to be out first. He was out last, of course, 
 and had barely time to snatch the booklet from its 
 bag, ere an official warned him to hurry up. So 
 panting, confused, his bundle in one hand, his 
 treasure in the other, he sped over the bridge to 
 the next platform. 
 
 " Tickets, tickets, all tickets I " came another 
 
186 A TOURIST TICKET 
 
 alien voice, and he paused to obey, setting his 
 bundle on the ground in order to have both hands 
 for his task. But the opening of the cover was to 
 him as the closing of the Book of Life ; for it was 
 empty. 
 
 "Pass on, pass on!" came the not unkindly voice 
 of command once more. "Out of the way, you 
 there, and don't stand like a fool. You've dropped 
 it likely ; run back and see ; there's time yet. " 
 
 So over the bridge again went Raheem, in fran- 
 tic hope, back on his steps again in frantic despair. 
 "I had it, Huzoor, indeed I had it! Here is the 
 
 cover 
 
 !" 
 
 The ticket-collector shook his head, and Raheem, 
 with a dazed look, turned away quietly. 
 
 " Trra ! " came the voice of the drum -player sen- 
 tentiously and safely from the window of a car- 
 riage. " He hath lost the inside ; that comes of 
 a cover. Well, well, prayers are over; up with 
 the carpet ! But he is Hajji already, my masters, 
 so 'tis not as though it were one of us sinners." 
 
 " Keep thy sins to thyself, chatterer," retorted 
 his next neighbour tartly, as the train moved on. 
 " We be virtuous men enough." 
 
 " If you haven't money to go on, you must go 
 back. The booking-office is over there, and the 
 up-mail will be in in a few hours." 
 
 This official view of the question, given by the 
 
A TOURIST TICKET 187 
 
 authorities as they gathered round the disappointed 
 pilgrim, was simplicity itself, even to Raheem. 
 He never thought of connecting his ticketless 
 cover with Deena's coverless ticket. The fact 
 that his chance was gone absorbed him utterly; 
 he had lost salvation, for the very thought of 
 taking back his gift to Hoshyar was impossible 
 to him. That was the outcome of it all. So he 
 sat patiently waiting for his train to come in; sat 
 patiently, after he had found a place in it, wait- 
 ing for it to go on, so absolutely absorbed in his 
 loss, that he did not even hear his neighbours' 
 comments on the delay. 
 
 "Line clear at last!" said the guard joyfully to 
 the driver as he came out of the telegraph-ofhce, 
 where but one instant before the welcome signal 
 had echoed. "Steam away all you know, sonny, 
 and make up lost time. I promised my girl to 
 be punctual; there's a hop on at her house." 
 
 So, with a shriek, they were off for a twenty- 
 mile scamper across the desert; out with a bump 
 over the points, out with a whistle past the last 
 signal, out with a flash by the telegraph-posts. But 
 something else was flashing by the posts also ; 
 for a message came clicking into the station they 
 had left not a minute ago, "- Mistake — line blocked 
 — down-maiiy 
 
 "My God!" said the station-master in a thick 
 
188 A TOURIST TICKET 
 
 voice, standing up blindly. He was an old Mutiny 
 man, but he was white as a sheet. 
 
 "It isn't our fault, father," began his son, a 
 slim young fellow, showing mixed blood. 
 
 "D n it all, sir," shouted the other furiously, 
 
 " what does it matter whose fault it is ? What's 
 to be done ? " 
 
 Nothing could be done, save to telegraph back 
 quick as kind nature could carry it : " Line blocJced 
 — up-mail also.'' Fateful words I The line blocked 
 both ways, and not a signal for twenty miles! 
 Half an hour of warning at the least, and nothing 
 to be done; nothing save to accept the disaster! 
 
 "Bring up the relief-engine sharp. Smith," said 
 the Traffic Superintendent at the terminus when, 
 ere a minute was past, the hopeless news reached 
 him. "Graham, run over for Dr. Westlake, for 
 Harrison, too, if he's there; splints, bandages, 
 dressers, and all that. Davies, wire back to the 
 other end to send what they can from their reserve." 
 And so, swiftly as hands and brains could com- 
 pass it, two more engines fled shrieking into the 
 growing dusk of evening behind those two, the 
 down-mail and the up-mail, coming nearer and 
 nearer to each other on the single line. 
 
 "Twenty minutes since they started, about," 
 said one man, who was standing with a watch in 
 his hand, in curiously quiet tones. "It must be 
 
A TOURIST TICKET 189 
 
 soon now; and there is a curve about the middle. 
 I hope to God there is no friend of mine in 
 either ! " 
 
 "Royston's in the down," replied another studi- 
 ously even voice. "He was going to see his 
 wife. But the firsts are well back ; it's the 
 
 thirds, poor devils " He paused, and the 
 
 others nodded. 
 
 The thirds, doubtless! And in one of them, 
 far forward, crouched Raheem, staring out into 
 the calm dusk, absorbed in the horror of going 
 back, going back to die before he had saved his 
 own soul ! 
 
 So, suddenly, through and above the rush and 
 the roar and the rattle that he scarcely heard, came 
 a new sound forcing him to listen. It was a quiver- 
 ing, clamorous, insistent whistle. It brought no 
 recognition to his ignorance, or to the ignorance 
 of those around him, but far back in the first- 
 class carriages white faces peered out into the 
 gloom, and foreign voices called to each other: 
 "Danger whistle — what's up?" Still, it was a 
 strange, disturbing sound with a strange echo. 
 And was that an echo of the rush, and the roar, 
 and the rattle? Raheem sat up quickly. Was it 
 the end of all things? Why had they struck him 
 — Who — Hoshyar! Then thought ended in a 
 scream of pain. 
 
190 A TOURIST TICKET 
 
 " There is a man caught by the feet under that 
 wheel," said Dr. Westlake not many minutes after, 
 as he came out of the hideous pile of wreckage 
 all grimed and smirched. " He is breathing yet, 
 so have him out sharp. We may save him, but 
 
 these others " He passed on to seek work 
 
 significantly. 
 
 And so Raheem, stunned and with both feet 
 crushed to a jelly, was dug out; the only man 
 left alive in the forward third-class carriage of 
 the up mail. He was still unconscious when it 
 came to be his turn for the doctors in the crowded 
 hospital. " Badly nourished," said Dr. Westlake, 
 " but it is his only chance. Harrison, the euca- 
 lyptus sawdust, please ; it is a good case for it, 
 and we shall be short of dressings." 
 
 So two days afterwards Raheem, recovering from 
 a slight concussion of the brain, found himself in 
 a strangely comfortable bed with a curious hump 
 of a thing over his feet under the coverlet. He 
 did not know that there were no feet there ; that 
 they had both been amputated at the ankle, and 
 that he was a cripple for life. And there was 
 no reason why he should find it out, since the 
 sawdust did its work without more ado, much 
 to the doctor's delight, who, as he took Raheem's 
 temperature, talked of first intents and septic 
 dressings to his assistant. In fact, they were both 
 
A TOURIST TICKET 191 
 
 SO pleased that it came upon them by surprise one 
 day, when Raheem, with clasped hands, asked when 
 he was to die. 
 
 '' Die ? Rubbish ! " said Dr. Westlake, cheer- 
 fully. " Not from this, at any rate, and we will 
 do what we can for the lungs afterwards." 
 
 Raheem's face did not lose its anxiety. " And 
 when, if the Huzoor will say, shall I be able to 
 walk again ? " As he lay in the comfortable bed 
 he had been making up his mind to sacrifice all 
 comfort, to leave life behind him, and start on foot 
 for death, with his face towards Mecca. 
 
 " Walk ? " echoed the doctor, with a significant 
 look at his assistant. Then he sat down on the 
 edge of the cot, and told the truth. 
 
 Raheem heard it, looking incredulously at the 
 cradle ; and then suddenly he interrupted a plati- 
 tude about its being better to be a cripple than 
 to die, with an eager question : " Then the Huzoor 
 means that I shall never be able to Avalk again ? " 
 
 The doctor nodded. 
 
 " May God reward the Huzoor for ever and 
 ever," said Raheem in a whisper, raising both 
 hands in a salute ; and his face was one radiant 
 smile. 
 
 Dr. Westlake looked at his assistant as they 
 passed on to the next cot. " They are an incom- 
 prehensible people," he said in rather an injured 
 
192 A TOURIST TICKET 
 
 tone. "I never expected to hear a man thank 
 me rapturously for cutting off both his feet." 
 
 He did not know that cripples are especially 
 exempted from the duty of pilgrimage, and that 
 the patient was repeating his version of the text: 
 "It is better to enter halt into life, than, having 
 two feet, to be cast into hell." 
 
THE KING'S WELL 
 
 This is one of poor Craddock's many stories 
 which he told me when we were in the wilderness 
 together, engaged — like another Moses and Aaron 
 — in preparing a way for a Western people across 
 the desert, and dividing its sand waves by a path- 
 way of red-brick ballast edged with steel. In other 
 words, in making the railway on which he after- 
 wards met his death in trying to prevent a survival 
 of past ages from being in the permanent way of 
 civilisation. 
 
 We used to sit at the door of my little tent — 
 two Enorlishmen adrift on a sand sea — and I used to 
 listen while he talked ; for the life he had led made 
 him the best of company, and his combined igno- 
 rance and knowledge of the East was a perpetual 
 surprise. Some of his stories were grossly, frankly 
 impossible, but this one, despite its strangeness, I 
 believed unhesitatingly ; as any one would have 
 done who had seen, as I saw, the indescribable 
 world-tarnish which long years of loose living brings 
 X93 
 
194 THE king's well 
 
 to the kindliest face, leave it clear, bright, and eager 
 to a rejuvenescence of love, and pity, and pain. 
 
 The sun had dipped below the rising rim of the 
 great sand-circle whose centre we were, but the sky 
 was still a cloudless expanse of yellow radiance 
 dazzling to the eyes from sheer excess of light. 
 There was nothing far or near to differentiate one 
 part of earth or heaven from another save the thin 
 red line of ridiculous little flags we had been plant- 
 ing out during the day; and I remember thinking 
 that I could not foi- the life of me tell the exact 
 spot where, five minutes before, I had seen the last 
 curved glint of the sun disappear — for one bit of 
 horizon seemed to the full as bright as another. 
 
 "Looks like the yaller bottle in the cliemist's 
 shop; don't it, sir?" remarked Craddock cheerfully 
 — " leastways, as I used to think Avhen I was a boy. 
 Lordy ! Lordy ! boys is — is boys, I do assure you. 
 Old Pargiter's shop to our village was over against 
 the public, sir, next the church, an' comin' 'ome o' 
 evenin's from the catechism, sir, it seemed Je-rew- 
 salem the Golden. Expect it was the anathysts, an' 
 sapphiras, an' rubies, an' them sort o' stones did it, 
 for boys — is boys, you see, sir." He gave an apolo- 
 getic smear to his corn-coloured moustache as if to 
 wipe away the flavour of his own sentiment — the 
 wrist-smear of those whose hands are habitually 
 soiled. 
 
THE king's well 195 
 
 " It is like a topaz seen against the light," I re- 
 plied, accepting both confidence and excuse with the 
 calm indifference which always encouraged Crad- 
 dock to further indulgence. " I don't think I ever 
 saw it quite so dazzlingly clear, did you?" 
 
 He paused awhile, and the blue eyes, bloodshot 
 by exposure to unspeakable lights and unspeakable 
 darknesses of all sorts and kinds, grew a trifle 
 absent. 
 
 "I danno but what I 'ave, sir; leastways it looks 
 more light-like from the bottom o' a well. As, 
 savin' your presence, sir, is only nat'ral." 
 
 " From the bottom of a well? " I echoed. '' When 
 was that, Craddock ? you never told me that yarn." 
 
 He paused again. "No, sir. It ain't a pleasing 
 interlood, for 'twas in the Mutiny time, sir, w'en we 
 was all mad devils, black an' white — Avhite an' 
 
 black ," and then suddenly, as I have said, some 
 
 past pity and passion and pain seemed to come back 
 upon him with a rush, so that he sat staring into 
 that cloudless sky as if he saw a vision, and his 
 voice came at last half to himself, " By the Lord as 
 made me I dunno which was worse, black nor white, 
 white nor black ; yet it was white as did for me, 
 Nathaniel James Craddock, at the bottom o' the 
 King's Well." Then he was silent again, and I sat 
 silent too, for there never was any use in pumping 
 Craddock. His fund of experiences was too vast for 
 
196 THE king's well 
 
 you to be sure of bringing what you wanted to 
 the surface. So, after a time, he began again 
 deviously : 
 
 "Not as wot it was, so to speak, a well at all, 
 but what they calls, in the lingo, a hawly — a 
 thing, you know, sir, with flights o' steps a-leadin' 
 down to the bowels of the yerth — right down to 
 the water as maybe a hundred or a hundred and 
 fifty feet below the surface, as the sayin' is, sir. 
 It was just a large, round, black spot o' ink, that 
 was wot the water was, an' standin' on the stone 
 edge you could see right up the stairs to a round 
 yaller spot of Je-rewsalem the Golden. Two spots 
 there were, sir, owin' to there being two flights 
 o' steps, an' many a time as I lay like a rabbit in 
 'is burrow down by the water I'd tell myself luck 
 was in there bein' two — two whites to one black, 
 yet after all it was white as did the business for 
 me, sir, at the bottom o' the King's hawli/.'' 
 
 " You must have been very young in Mutiny 
 time?" I remarked in casual aid to his lagging 
 confidence. 
 
 " One and twenty, sir — more by token I come 
 to man's estate, as the sayin' is, at the bottom o' 
 that there well. Lordy I I can see it now I A sort 
 o' mist o' light from Je-rewsalem above a-fadin' 
 away half down the stairs, and leavin' the rest to 
 get darker an' darker to the black spot o' water; 
 
THE king's well 197 
 
 but it had a glint o' light on it too that come, 
 God knows how, when the sun was low." As he 
 spoke I had noticed a curious change in his voice ; 
 a sort of refining process, as if he were going back 
 to a self that was less rough, less common, and the 
 change was still more marked when, after a pause, 
 he began again : " It was an awful hot year, sir, 
 just a white flame of heat — a burning fiery fur- 
 nace ; but there wasn't none of us come through 
 it praisin' an' magnifyin' — leastways I didn't, but 
 then I was a wild lot. Run away from home, sir ; 
 that is how I came to be in the country, knowing 
 a good bit of the lingo for a youngster. Served 
 my way out before the mast, and then backed my 
 luck. And won it too ; for a Rajah fellow paid 
 me to wrestle with his men, and play monkey 
 tricks. Lordy ! I remember the first time I got 
 in grips with the champion, and he stood head 
 down expectin' me to go on buttin' like a goat. 
 There wasn't one of them could touch me, sir, 
 but that wasn't no protection when the time came. 
 It's an odd sort of thing, I do assure you, for a 
 man who knows he could lick every one he sees, 
 to be runnin' like a hare for dear life, hidin' by 
 day an' circumventin' the villages by night; but 
 that was how it was for three weeks before I come 
 plumb — as the sayin' is — on the King's Well. It 
 was right in the worst country, and I was foot- 
 
198 THE king's well 
 
 sore, and stumblin' like as if I were in liquor with 
 the fever. A queer sort o' place it was as I saw 
 it first in the dawn which come — as the dawns 
 had a trick o' doin' in those times — a deal too 
 soon for Nathaniel James. It was right in the 
 open in the middle o' a lot o' broken bricks and 
 little mounds o' mud — miles and miles of them 
 it had seemed to me, footsore an' stumblin'; for 
 the place had been a big city, so I'm told, sir, in 
 the old times. And now it was nothin' but a plain 
 o' broken brick an' graves, except for a cluster of 
 tall old liouses with the usual mud-huts a-crowdin' 
 up round them. And I knew from what I'd heard 
 that the biggest murdering villains o' the lot lived 
 in them houses, poor budmarsh^ Mohammedans, proud 
 as Lucifer, a-screwing the tails o' the ryots for a 
 livin' — though why ryots, sir, is hard to say, for 
 a more peaceable lot o' able-bodied men and women 
 never was. Well, there I was in the w^orst place 
 I could have chosen, and the dawn comin' sudden 
 all in a blaze. Then, right at my feet I sees the 
 hawli/ ; just a hole o' broken masonry, an' the steps 
 leading down like a rabbit burrow. They didn't 
 seem to be much used that side furthest from the 
 village among the graves, for the drifted sand was 
 a-lying thick on the topmost steps, and I didn't 
 see no footmarks to speak of, only a queer sort 
 o' track that might 'ave bin a man's and mightn't. 
 1 Bad living. 
 
THE king's well 199 
 
 Anyhow I thought I'd risk it, seeing as if any 
 one come down the one stair, I could hoof it up 
 the other, an' there's generally a lot o' little arched 
 recesses at the bottom o' hawlies where I could lie 
 low. So I chanced it. An' Lordy ! wasn't it cool 
 as I hobbled down them vaulted steps. 'Twas a 
 fine place, sir, when all was said an' done. Half-a- 
 dozen steps or so, and then a landin', as the sayin' 
 is, with a sort o' travellers' rest on either side ; but 
 I went right down to the bottom, so as to see what 
 sort o' trap I'd got into. An' I found it none so 
 bad, for there wasn't no passage round as there is 
 in most haivlies^ but only a' arched room on either 
 side my stairs ending sheer in the drop o' ink 
 which filled up a round sort o' well that was 
 vaulted over up in the dark somewhere. So there 
 wasn't no way of getting from one stair to the 
 other but by a leap such as there wasn't one but 
 Nathaniel James in the country side as could leap 
 it; an' that would give me time. Still I do assure 
 you, sir, it takes the spunk out of a fellow to go 
 skulkin' round for three weeks with your life in 
 your hand in baggy silk trousers an' a dressin' 
 gown — for I'd put on what they calls a Mllit as 
 the Rajah give me for smashing up another Rajah's 
 champion — that's a dress o' state, sir, an' Mllit or 
 not, it nigh killed me, for it was chock full o' 
 embroidery an' that hot; but beggars mustn't be 
 
200 THE king's well 
 
 choosers, and that night I run off from the Palace 
 it was all I could lay hands on. An' did its work 
 too — just to give what them surveyor chaps calls 
 the proper contour, as the sayin' is. Anyhow, what 
 with the stain, a deal more knowledge of the lingo 
 than I have now, sir, an' through my being con- 
 siderable stronger than the only two fellars as 
 caught me napping, here I was in the King's hawly 
 watching them two round spots o' Je-rewsalem like 
 a man in his grave a-waitin' the last trump ; an' the 
 first pair o' feet I saw on the stairs opposite set 
 me a-tremblin' like a ferreted rabbit, even thougli 
 I knew that wot with the stairs, an' the drop o' 
 ink, I'd 'ave a good five minutes' start. But then 
 I heard the jingles on them, sir, and knew it was 
 only a woman from the village comin' down to 
 fill her water-pot. There was a lot o' them come 
 chatterin' and laughin' during the day, but always 
 down the further stair. And Lordy ! it was cool 
 after the fiery furnace ! I had a mouthful or two 
 o' corn I'd looted^ so when dusk came it seemed 
 to me as if I couldn't move on — small blame to 
 me, sir, seein' how cool an' quiet it was, and I so 
 close on done. But just as I was a-callin' myself 
 names for bein' lazy, come a footfall on my stair. 
 Now you know, sir, them haiolies bein' arched an' 
 all that, is awful echo-ey places, an' I do assure 
 you I made up my mind a man was coming down, 
 
THE "KING'S WELL 201 
 
 slow and deliberate-like. I looked out, an' couldn't 
 see nothing, but there was the footfall just like a 
 procession; an' then somethin' let loose a bellow, 
 and I felt inclined to cut. But then I thought 
 I'd wait a bit seein' I was stronger nor most, an' 
 the drop o' ink was handy for a corpse. So I 
 waited until the bellow come again; an' this time 
 — bein' close as it were, an' out o' the echo — I 
 knew my friend, for I do assure you, sir, it was 
 nothin' but the biggest bull toad you ever see, 
 coming flop, flop down the stair for his evenin' 
 drink. A great green thing with a yaller waist- 
 coat as sat up on the last step looked at me quite 
 proud-like. Lordy ! how I laughed ! It was the 
 first laugh I'd laughed for three week, an' it done 
 me good; that an' seeing the bull toad go douse 
 into the water like a man, for it set me a-longin' 
 for a swim too, an' when I come out o' that drop 
 o' cold ink I was a new man. Slept like a babby 
 in its cradle and woke to see through the maze 
 o' arches a woman on the t'other side a-rinsin' out 
 her brass pot quite calm-like. She was a-takin' 
 his breakfast to her man in the fields, I expect, 
 for there was a pile o' them flapjacks on a platter 
 beside her. I dun'no, sir, if it was' the sleep, or 
 the sight o' food and me ravenin' wolves, or just 
 sheer devilry — for I was a wild lot — but I out 
 o' my rabbit 'utch an' let loose a yell. You may 
 
202 THE king's well 
 
 well call 'em hawlies, sir, for I do assure you I 
 felt kind o' queer myself liaviii' made all that 
 noise. She gave no look, but let loose another 
 yell of her own as she turned tail and ran up 
 them stairs like a lamplighter. It seemed to me 
 as if she was callin' on ' the King — the King,' 
 but I didn't stop to think. Now was my time. 
 I was over the drop o' ink clear on to the second 
 step in my hurry, before she was half-way up to 
 Je-rewsalem, an' I was back again to the 'utch 
 with the flapjacks making ready to run if need 
 be for dear life, when I heard the silver tinkle 
 again an' women's voices. Every word, sir, I could 
 hear through its bein' a baivly^ an' I heard her " 
 — he paused sharply, waited a second, and began 
 again — " There was two on them now, disputin' 
 an' half-laughin', half-cryin'; one was pullin' the 
 other an' tellin' her she was a fool ; there wasn't 
 no King, more's the jjity, and if there was she 
 wasn't afraid seein' he was her hdpddda ; — that's 
 ancestors, sir — but the t'other wouldn't hear of it, 
 an' kept sayin' 'twas well enough for some folk as 
 pretended wisdom, but every one knew the King's 
 footmark on the stair an' had heard his voice after 
 dusk. My friend the bull toad, thinks I, feelin' 
 considerable easier in my mind, for I knew enough 
 o' their ways you see, sir, to know as there wasn't 
 much chance o' any one else comin' down my stairs 
 
THE king's well 203 
 
 if a ghost lived there ; so I listened to the argufying 
 quite interested-like. But it wasn't no good — the 
 half-laughin' voice hadn't a chance even when it 
 grew sober, and cried shame on bein' frightened at 
 the spirit of the good King, who every day come 
 down to his hawly all alone, so that any pore soul 
 as wanted justice might go down the other stair 
 and tell him what was amiss across the black water 
 with no fear. ' If he was only there now instead 
 o' bein' where saints are,' I heard her say, ' I'd go 
 down this instant an' tell him to stop it all — but 
 there's no one to listen nowadays — no one.' An' 
 with that she come tinkling down the steps alone 
 — a tall girl, sir — but, there — 'tain't no good de- 
 scribin' her, for I never see her but in half-light 
 
 till Well I she just rinsed out her pot like the 
 
 rest o' them and filled it; but afore she went she 
 stood so Avith it on her head on the t'other side 
 o' the black water for a moment, an' said quite 
 loud an' bold-like, ' Salaam Mdhd7'(tj.' ^ 
 
 " I was that wild sort, as I might have given a 
 bellow just to frighten her for the fun o' the thing, 
 but I kept somehow a-thinkin' o' what she had said 
 of the old King a-trailin' down them steps in his 
 royal robes, and listenin' in that bawli/ to all the 
 pore folks' troubles, an' a-promisin' never to forsake 
 them but to bring justice with him down the stairs 
 1 Greeting or peace to the King. 
 
204 
 
 to the end o' all things. Not that he was an old 
 King, sir, as I found out afterwards, but a young 
 sort o' saint, as got killed afore his time. You see 
 I heard a lot o' talk from the women as came down 
 in companies, skeery, and just in a mortal hurry to 
 fill their jars and git home because of the girl as 
 said she had heard the King in the daytime. So 
 that it came to me, sir, that I couldn't do better 
 nor lie hidden a day or two and get strong where 
 I was, for there wasn't no manner o' hurry. Like 
 as not I'd get killed somehow before I got to the 
 river, and I couldn't help anyways, seein' as I 
 couldn't look to get into any o' the places where 
 we was holdin' out against the black devils. An' 
 that evenin', when the old bull toad come down for 
 his swim, I just laughed again quite light-hearted, 
 and says as she said, ' Salaam Mdhdrdj I ' 
 
 '' Well, she was the only one as come alone after 
 that, but come she did, an' every time she come 
 she would stand an' say loud-like, but a bit wistful, 
 ' Salaam Mdhdrdj.' 
 
 "She was a tall girl, but there — it ain't no use 
 describing her. 
 
 " So what with the women coming all together I 
 didn't have much chance o' flapjacks, and what with 
 the village bein' walled in an' full of them mur- 
 derin' nobility, I wasn't, so to say, successful in 
 tliievin', an' at last I see it was time to move on. 
 
THE king's well 205 
 
 A bad time, too ; for I heard from the women's 
 talk as there was crowds o' sepoys about a-screwin' 
 the pore folks' tails, an' I heard her say to 'em once 
 as it were their fault. ' If they wasn't so frightened 
 o' the King,' said she, ' maybe he'd come back and 
 give 'em justice.' An' that evenin' when she come 
 down she stood so with her arms spread out lookin' 
 up the stair and said again, bowing down after their 
 fashion, ' Salaa7n Mdhdrdj, your slave waits ! ' 
 
 " There was a pile o' flapjacks on the platter 
 beside her water-pot, an' maybe it was the sight o' 
 them, and knowin' they w^ould be Avorth gold to 
 me, or maybe because it was my last time o' askin', 
 or maybe the devil that was in me, but I just out 
 o' my rabbit 'utch, in my baggy silk trousers and 
 dressing-gown — in the whole blessed killit^ sir — 
 and stood quite still on the steps. It was most 
 dark, you see, sir, an' the contours was correc', so 
 'twas no wonder she give a little cry, half-glad, half- 
 afraid, as she come up from her salaam. I guessed 
 she'd run and leave me the flapjacks, but she wasn't 
 that sort. A tall girl — but there, it ain't no use 
 describin'. Well afore I could think wdiat to do 
 she was at it ; such a tale o' wrong, sir, not about 
 herself, though she was one of those pore souls as 
 is born widows, but about Lord knows what of the 
 people. An' I listened. Did you ever listen, sir, 
 to a woman's voice just chock full o' confidence in 
 
206 THE king's well 
 
 your bein' a good sort ? Well, I did ; an' I dunno 
 how 'twas, sir, but the confidence was catchin'. I 
 was a reckless, bold chap, you see, an' I knew she 
 had grit, so the next moment I was over that circle 
 o' black water and beside her. She give another 
 little cry, but, my Lord ! she had grit, for she drew 
 back quick against the wall and thrust out her 
 hands to keep me off. 
 
 " ' The King ! the King ! ' she said, ' I thought 
 you was the King ! ' 
 
 " An' with that I caught her by the hands. ' I'm 
 not the King,' says I, ' but don't you be afraid, I'm 
 only a pore man as won't hurt you.' 
 
 " ' I'm not afraid,' she says, tryin' to make believe. 
 'You come down the King's stairs o' justice,' she 
 said, 'an' that's enough.' 
 
 " Then somehow, I dunno how it was, sir, but all 
 in a moment it come home to me that I'd go my 
 whole pile on her, an' I drop her hands an' I says : 
 
 " ' Yes ! I come down the King's stairs, and I'll 
 be a King to you for justice if you'll be a Queen 
 to me.' 
 
 " And by God ! sir, she was. 
 
 " So there we were, lookin' into each other's eyes 
 and sajdn' nothin', till she gave a queer little laugh. 
 
 " ' Why,' she says, ' you're a wliite man ! ' and 
 with that she lay her finger quick and confident 
 on my wrist ; an' sure enough, what with the swim 
 
THE king's well 207 
 
 and the dark it were white indeed — white an' 
 shivery, too, with the touch somehow, so that I 
 couldn't but keep her hand so and say : 
 
 '' * Yes, my dear, Fm white and you're black ; I'm 
 a man and you're a woman, but it shan't make no 
 odds. I'm King and you're Queen in this here 
 haiuly^ and there shan't be nothing but justice 
 atween us, so help me, God ! ' 
 
 " An' there wasn't, sir. No ! though we went our 
 whole pile on each other, I do assure you, sir." 
 
 The assurance was needless ; one look at his face 
 was enough — that world- worn face with its blood- 
 shot eyes, fixed on the dazzling glory of the sky 
 as if they saw a vision. 
 
 "■ I used to see her first against Je-rewsalem," he 
 went on in a lower tone. " Then I could hear her 
 come down the stairs ever so soft to stand close to 
 the water's edge and cry, ^Salaam Mdhdrdj' — for 
 she called me that, just for fun, you see, sir. An' 
 there weren't much wistfulness in her voice, sir, 
 mostly laughter, an' somethin' better nor laughter, 
 when I come leapin' across that drop o' ink to 
 stand beside her for a little, an' tell her — what 
 folks say to each other Avhen they've set their 
 whole pile on each other, you know, sir. For she 
 wouldn't never come down the King's stairs, sayin' 
 it was unlucky an' Avhat not. Excuses, sir, but I 
 understood 'em and I didn't want her, for you see 
 
208 THE king's well 
 
 it was justice between us I'd sworn, and I was 
 a wild lot. She had told her father — a blind old 
 Brahman, sir, awful holy, and nigh bedridden too — 
 and he sent word to say stop where I was. The 
 villagers wouldn't venture down the stairs either, 
 and if they did wouldn't harm me, being, as 
 I say, sir, as peaceable a lot o' able-bodied men 
 as ever was. But the maraudin', murderin' crcAv 
 in the big hawelis — that's houses, sir — was har- 
 bouring those mutinous devils of Jack Pandies, 
 and playin' high old Tommy for miles round, so 
 I'd better lie low till justice came ; as it 'd sure to 
 do at last, seein' that the Lord Avas King. They 
 talks a sight, sir, about the heathen and their 
 ignorance, but I do assure you she knew a deal 
 more nor me ; Avhat with being of a king's family 
 an' havin' a bedridden saint of a Brahman for a 
 father. An' they mayn't know much book-learnin' 
 p'r'aps, but some of 'em knows hoAV to make a man 
 put his whole pile on them. And she had grit, my 
 Lord ! she had grit ! 
 
 " Yet there Avas a catch in her breath that evenin' 
 Avhen I Avas nigh mad Avith fear, lest she had come 
 to harm because it Avas so late, and hearing her 
 footfall on the stair I leapt over, and nearly fell 
 back into the ink-pot through seein' her in a man's 
 dress. 
 
 '' ' I'd rather you didn't come if there's danger,' 
 
THE king's well 209 
 
 said I quite sharp-like, when she told me the 
 sepoys was setting watch because folk said the 
 white soldiers were a-coming. ' Don't ! I can't 
 stand it here in the dark, idle, thinkin' o' you God 
 knows how. I'll fend for myself quite well.' 
 
 " An' with that she laughed low with the little 
 catch in her breath still, and come a bit closer so 
 as I could slip my arm round her a little ; an' by 
 that I knew 'twas more danger than she let on — 
 for she was not that sort. 
 
 " ' Now don't you come,' says I, as I might be 
 the King himself givin' orders, ' I won't have it. If 
 the soldiers is comin', they'll bring justice, an' if not 
 a little starvin' won't hurt me, for I'm gettin' quite 
 strong again.' An' so I was, sir, what with the rest 
 and the food an' the happiness. For I do assure 
 you, sir, on my solemn oath, that I was happy at 
 the bottom o' that King's hawly. Happy? By 
 the Lord ! sir, 'twas enough to make a man happy 
 to see the look she gave me, as much as to say 
 I was strong enough and everything enough for 
 her ; for though it was nigh dark I could see her 
 face from its bein' so close to mine — she bein' a tall 
 girl — but there, it ain't no use describin'. There 
 don't seem much to say, sir, when it comes to 
 lookin' at each other that way, an' so we stood 
 silent a bit, till sudden I hear the old bull toad at 
 his jinks again, and partly to ease off the sort o' 
 
210 THE king's well 
 
 burstin' feelin' at my heart I cries with a laugh, 
 ' There's the King ! ' 
 
 " But she just lays her head clown, pugree an' 
 all, on my shoulder and says with a sob, ' No, here's 
 the King. The King as I come to for justice.' 
 
 He paused for so long, that something of the 
 excitement which had been thrilling in his tones 
 seemed to pass into my mind, and I felt almost a 
 shock when he went on quite calmly: 
 
 " Well, it was arranged that she wasn't to come 
 back for three days onless somethin' turned up. 
 I would have it so, an' she give in at last. It 
 was mortal dull without her, and I made up my 
 mind when I see her again to tell her I'd back 
 my luck once more, and fight my way safe some- 
 how. Then when it was over I'd come back for 
 her ; for it didn't seem it could go against me as 
 I sat down by the drop o' ink a-lookin' up to 
 Je-rewsalem over the way, and a-wonderin' when I 
 should see her on the top step a-comin' for jus- 
 tice to her King. 
 
 "Well, she come at last. It were the second 
 day, I think, sir, and it took me all of a sudden, 
 for, owin' to its bein' a hawly in the bowels in 
 the yerth you couldn't hear nothin' of what was 
 goin' on up top. I Avas sittin' lookin' over the 
 way when I hear a noise behind an' a voice, ' Md- 
 hdrdj ! Mdhdrdj ! ' 
 
THE king's well 211 
 
 "It was she, sir, clown tlie King's steps in 
 the man's dress, an' behind her, my God ! not 
 black devils but white ones with red coats an' 
 set bayonets ! — ' Mdhdrdj ! Mdhdrdj ! Justice ! 
 Justice ! ' 
 
 "I was out, sir, tearing up to meet her in a 
 second, shoutin' in English to hold hard — that 
 she was a woman ; but them cursed haivly echoes 
 mixed it all up, an' the cursed baggy trousers 
 and things, didn't give me no chance of a-hearin' 
 
 through its bein' half-dark 
 
 ^'^ Mdhdrdj! Mdhdrdj!' 
 
 "I heard it plain enough, God knows. I hear 
 it now sometimes, sir, an' I see her face as I saw 
 it for the only time in the light afore I fell over 
 her dead body a-lying on the steps half-way down 
 the stairs o' justice. 
 
 " They told me after, as I had finished the cry 
 for her many and many a time whilst I lay in 
 'orspital — for they'd struck me playful-like before 
 they found out I was white, an' I took mortal 
 bad ; but there wasn't much use in justice then 
 for none o' us. An' I never could tell quite how 
 it happened, for when I went back the village 
 was just bricks, and the corpses lyin' about thick, 
 unburied. They had had a hard fight as they 
 told me, had the Tommies, an' bein' fresh from 
 Cawnpore was keen — as was nat'ral — an' she was 
 
212 THE king's well 
 
 in man's clothes, you see, when she come flyin 
 down the steps o' justice calling for the King." 
 ****** 
 
 He sat silent, looking out to the now darkening 
 sky where the light had faded save in the widen- 
 ing rays spreading out from the grave of the 
 sun. And down one of them, as down a golden 
 staircase, I seemed to see a flying figure with 
 outstretched arms pass to Jerusalem the Golden 
 with the cry '' Mdhdrdj ! Mdlidrdj!'' 
 
 But Craddock was already clearing his throat 
 suggestively for the usual glass of whisky and 
 water ; yet ere he drank it his eyes wandered 
 absently, helplessly, to the horizon, and I heard 
 him mutter to himself : 
 
 '' An' so 'twas Avhite, not black, as did for Na- 
 thaniel James Craddock at the bottom o' the 
 King's Well." 
 
 And as I looked at him drink-sodden and reck- 
 less, I understood that when the time came he too 
 would have the right to pass down the King's 
 stair seeking justice — and finding it. 
 
UMA HIMAYUTEE 
 
 Uma-devi was sitting on a heap of yellow 
 wheat, which showed golden against the silvery 
 surface of her husband's threshing-floor. She was 
 a tall woman, of about five and twenty, with a fair, 
 fine-cut face, set in a perfect oval above the mas- 
 sive column of her throat. She was a Brahmani 
 of the Suruswutee tribe — in other words, a mem- 
 ber of perhaps tiie most ancient Aryan colony in 
 India, which long ages back settled down to culti- 
 vate the Hurreana, or "green country"; so called, 
 no doubt, before its sacred river, the Suruswutee, 
 lost itself in the dry deserts west of Delhi ; a mem- 
 ber, therefore, of a community older than Brahman- 
 ism itself, and which clings oddly to older faiths, 
 older ways, and older gods. So Uma-devi, who 
 was on the rack of that jealousy which comes to 
 most women, whether they be ignorant or cultured, 
 had the advantage over most of the latter : she 
 could look back through the ages to a more in- 
 spiring and stimulating progenitrix than Mother 
 Eve. For, despite the pharisaical little hymn of 
 
 213 
 
214 UMA HIMAVUTEE 
 
 Western infancy bidding us thank goodness for 
 our birth and inheritance of knowledge, one can 
 scarcely be grateful for a typical woman simpering 
 over an apple, or subsequently sighing over the 
 difficulties of dress. The fact being that our story 
 of Creation only begins when humanity, fairly 
 started on the Rake's Progress, felt the necessity 
 for bolstering up its self-respect by the theory of 
 original sin. 
 
 But this woman could dimly, through the numb 
 pain of her heart, feel the influence of a nobler 
 Earth-mother in Uma Himavutee — Uma her name- 
 sake — Uma of the Himalayas, birthplace of all 
 sacred things — Uma of the sunny yet snowy peaks, 
 emblem at once of perfect wifehood, motherhood, 
 and that mystical virginity which, in Eve-ridden 
 faiths, finds its worship in Mariolatry. 
 
 That she could even dimly recognise the beauty 
 of this conception came partly from the simple yet 
 ascetic teachings of her race ; partly because there 
 are some natures. East and West, which turn in- 
 stinctively to Uma Himavutee, and this Avoman 
 among yellow corn was of that goodly company. 
 
 Yet a sharp throb of sheer animal jealousy — 
 the jealousy which in most civilised communities 
 is considered a virtue when sanctified by the bonds 
 of matrimony — seemed to tear her heart as her 
 hands paused in her patient darning of gold-col- 
 
UMA HIMAVUTEE 215 
 
 ourecl silk on dull madder-red stuff, and lier eyes 
 sought the figure of a man outlined against the 
 dull red horizon. 
 
 It was Shiv-deo, her husband, returning from 
 his work in the fields. 
 
 She folded up her work methodically, leaving 
 the needle with its pennant of floss still twined 
 deftly in and out of the threads as a mark to show 
 where to take up the appointed pattern once more. 
 For Uma-devi's work was quaintly illustrative of 
 her life, being done from the back of the stuff 
 and going on laboriously, conscientiously, trustfully, 
 without reference to the unseen golden diaper slowly 
 growing to beauty on the other side of the cloth. 
 That remained as a reward to tired eyes and fin- 
 gers when the toil was over, and the time came 
 to piece the whole web into a garment — a wed- 
 ding veil, perchance, for her daughter, had she 
 had one. But Uma was childless. 
 
 Yet there was no reproach, no discontent in 
 her husband's fine beardless face as he came up 
 to her ; for he happened — despite the barbarous 
 marriage customs of his race — to love his wife 
 as she loved him. 
 
 They were a handsome pair truly, much of an 
 age, tall, strong, yet of a type as refined-looking 
 as any in the world. At their feet lay the heaps 
 of wheat; beyond them, around them, that limit- 
 
216 UMA HIMAVUTEE 
 
 less plain which once seen holds the imagination 
 captive for ever whether the recollection be of a 
 sea of corn, or, as now, of stretches of brown 
 earth bare of all save the dead sources of a gath- 
 ered harvest. To one side, a mile or so away, 
 the piled mud village was girdled by a golden 
 haze of dust which sprang from the feet of the 
 homing cattle. 
 
 '' I saw one with thee but now," he said, as 
 half-mechanically he stooped to gather up a hand- 
 ful of the wheat and test it between finger and 
 thumb. " Gossip Radha by her bulk — and by 
 thy face, wife. What new crime hath the village 
 committed ? What new calamity befallen the 
 part-owners ? Sure, even her tongue could say 
 naught against the harvest ! " 
 
 " Naught ! thanks be to the Lord ! " replied 
 Uma briefly. "Now, since thou hast come to 
 watch, I will go bring the water and see Baha-jee ^ 
 hath his dinner. I will return ere long and set 
 thee free." 
 
 "Thou hast a busy life," he said suddenly as 
 if the fact struck him newly. " There are too 
 few of us for the work." 
 
 The woman turned from him suddenly to look 
 out to the horizon beyond the level fields. 
 
 " Ay ! there are too few of us," she echoed 
 i Honorific title for a father. 
 
TJMA HIMAVUTEE 217 
 
 with an effort, ''but I will be back ere the light 
 goes." 
 
 Too few ! Yes, too few. She had known that 
 for some time ; and if it were so in their yonth 
 and strength, what wonld it be in the old age 
 which must come upon them as it had upon the 
 Baba-jee, who, as she passed in to the wide court- 
 yard in order to fetch the big brazen water vessel, 
 nodded kindly, asking where his son had lingered. 
 
 ''He watchss the corn heaps till I return. It 
 must be so, since there are so few of us." 
 
 The nod changed to a shake, and the cheerful 
 old voice trembled a little over the echo. 
 
 "Ay! there are few of us." 
 
 All the way down to the shallow tank, set, as 
 it were, in a crackle-edge of a sun-baked mud, 
 the phrase re-echoed again and again in Uma- 
 devi's brain till it seemed written large through 
 her own eyes in the faces of the village women 
 passing to and fro with their water-pots. They 
 knew it also ; they said it to themselves, though 
 as yet none had dared — save Mai Radha, with 
 her cowardly hints — to say to her that the time 
 had come when the few ought to be made more. 
 Ah I if Shiv-deo's younger brother had not died be- 
 fore his child-wife was of age to be brought home, 
 this need not have been. Though, even then, a 
 virtuous woman for her husband's sake ought 
 
218 UMA HIMAVUTEE 
 
 Uma-devi, clown by the water-edge, as if to 
 escape from her own thoughts, turned hastily 
 to spread the corner of her veil over the wide 
 mouth of the brazen pot and with a smaller cup 
 began to ladle the muddy water on to the 
 strainer. But the thought was passionate, insist- 
 ent. Ought ! What was the use of prating 
 about ought ? She could not, she would not let 
 Shivo take another woman by the hand. How 
 could they ask her, still young, still beautiful, 
 still beloved, to give him another bride ? Why, 
 it would be her part to lift the veil from the new 
 beauty, as she lifted it from the now brimming 
 water-pot — so 
 
 Uma Himavutee ! what did she see ? Her own 
 face reflected in the brass-ringed water, as in a 
 mirror set in a golden frame ! Clear as in any 
 mirror her own beauty — the lips Shivo had kissed 
 — the eyes which held him so dear; all, all, un- 
 changed. Ah ! but it was impossible I That was 
 what the pious old folk preached — what the pious 
 young folk pretended. She poised the brazen vessel 
 on her head, telling herself passionately it was im- 
 possible. Yet the sight of the wide courtyard, 
 empty save for Baha-jee creeping about to feed 
 the milch kine and do what he could of woman's 
 work, revived that refrain 6f self-reproach, "There 
 are too few of us." Shivo himself had said it — 
 
UMA HIMAVUTEE 219 
 
 for the first time it is true, but would it be the 
 hast? Wherefore? since it was true. She set 
 down the water-pot and began to rekindle the ashes 
 on the hearth, thinking stupidly of that reflection 
 of her own face. But water was like a man's 
 heart; it could hold more faces than one. 
 
 ''Ari, half sister," called Mai Radha, pausing at 
 the open doorway to look in and see the house- 
 mistress clapping unleavened bread between her 
 palms with the hot haste of one hard pressed for 
 time. '' Thou hast no rest ; but one woman is 
 lost in these courts. I mind when thy mother- 
 in-law lived and there were young things grow- 
 ing up in each corner. That is as it should 
 be." 
 
 A slow flush darkened Uma's face. " Young 
 things come quick enough when folks will," she 
 retorted passionately. " Give me but a year's 
 grace, gossip, and I, Uma-devi, will fill the yard 
 too — if I wish it filled. Ay ! and without asking 
 thy help either." 
 
 It was intolerable that this woman with her 
 yearly, endless babies should come and crow over 
 the childless hearth. Yet she was right ; and 
 again the old sickening sense of failure replaced 
 the flash of indignant forgetfulness. 
 
 " Heed not my food, daughter," came the cheer- 
 ful contented old voice. " I can cook mine own 
 
220 VMA. HIMAVUTEE 
 
 and Shivo must need his after the day's toil. If 
 thou take it to him at the threshing-floor 'twill 
 save time; when hands are few the minutes are 
 as jewels and it grows dark already. Thou wilt 
 need a cresset for safety from the snakes." 
 
 Once more the woman winced. That was true 
 also ; yet had she been doing her duty and bringing 
 sons to the hearth it would not have been so, for 
 the glory of coming motherhood would have driven 
 the serpents from her path.^ 
 
 She paused at the doorstep to give a backward 
 glance, to see the old man already at his woman's 
 work, and her heart smote her again. Was it 
 seemly work for the most learned man in the 
 village who had taught his son to be so good, 
 so kind? Yet Shivo of himself would never say 
 the word, neither would the old man. That was 
 the worst of it; for it would have been easier to 
 have kicked against the pricks. 
 
 She passed swiftly to the fields, the brass platter 
 — glittering under the flicker of the cresset and 
 piled with dough cakes and a green leaf of curds — 
 poised gracefully on her right palm, the brass lotah 
 of drinking water hanging from her left hand, 
 the heavy folds of her gold and madder draperies 
 swaying as she walked. It was not yet quite dark. 
 A streak of red light lingered in the horizon, though 
 1 A common belief in India. 
 
UMA HIMAVUTEE 221 
 
 overhead the stars began to twinkle, matched in 
 the dim stretch of shadowy pLain by the twin- 
 kling lights showing one by one from the threshing- 
 floors. But Shiv-deo's was still dark, because there 
 had been no one to bring him a lamp. She gave 
 an angry laugh, set her teeth and stepped quicker. 
 If it came to that, she had better speak at once ; 
 speak now — to-night — before Mai Radha or some 
 one else had a chance — speak out in the open 
 where there were no spies to see — to hear. 
 
 It was a clear night, she thought, for sure ; and, 
 despite the red warning, giving promise of a clear 
 dawn. One of those dawns, maybe, when, like a 
 pearl-edged cloud, the far distant Himalayas would 
 hang on the northern horizon during the brief twi- 
 light and vanish before the glare of day. Ai ! Mai 
 Uma must be cold up there in the snows ! 
 
 And Shivo must be hungry by this time ; watch- 
 ing, perhaps, the twinkling light she carried come 
 nearer and nearer. 
 
 The thought pleased her, soothing her simple 
 heart, and the placid routine of her life came to aid 
 her as she set the platter before her husband rev- 
 erently with the signs of worship she would have 
 yielded a god. Were they not, she and Shivo, 
 indissolubly joined together for this world and the 
 next ? Was not a good woman redemption's source 
 to her husband? Baha-jee had read that many 
 
222 UMA HIMAVUTEE 
 
 times from his old books. So she felt no degra- 
 dation as she set the water silently by Shivo's 
 right hand, scooped a hollow in the yellow wheat 
 for the flickering cresset and then drew apart into 
 the shadows leaving the man alone to perform 
 the ritual in that little circle of light. He was 
 her husband ; that was enough. 
 
 With her chin upon both her hands she crouched 
 on another pile of corn and watched him with sad 
 eyes. Far and near all was soft, silent darkness 
 save for those twinkling stars shining in heaven 
 and matched on earth. Far and near familiar peace, 
 familiar certainty. Even that pain at her heart ? 
 Had not others felt it and set it aside ? The calm 
 endurance of her world, its disregard of pain, 
 seemed to change her own smart to a dull ache, 
 as her eyes followed every movement of the man 
 who loved her. 
 
 " Thou art silent, wife," he said, kind wonder 
 in his tone, when, the need for silence being over, 
 she still sat without a word. 
 
 That roused her. Silent! yea! silent for too long. 
 
 She rose suddenly and stood before him, tall 
 and straight in the circle of light. Then her voice 
 came clear without a tremble. 
 
 "There are too few of us in the house, husband. 
 We must have more. We must have young hands 
 when ours are old." 
 
UMA HIMAVUTEE 223 
 
 He stood up in his turn stretching his hands 
 towards her. 
 
 " Uma! say not so," he faltered, " I want no more." 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " The fields want them ; and even thou " 
 
 Then her calm broke, dissolved, disappeared, like 
 a child's sand barrier before the tide. She flung 
 lier arms skyward and her voice came like a cry. 
 
 "Ask her — ask thy sister — let her do all. I 
 cannot. And she — she must come from afar, Shivo, 
 from far ! Not from here — lest Mai Radha " 
 
 She broke off, turned and flung herself face down 
 in the corn silently, clutching at it with her hand. 
 
 Shiv-deo stood looking out over the shadowy 
 fields. 
 
 '' They need them surely," he said softly after a 
 time, " and my father has a right " 
 
 He paused, stooped, and laid a timid touch on 
 the woman's shoulder. 
 
 " Yea I she shall come from far, wife, from far." 
 
 Then there was silence ; far and near. 
 
 II 
 
 There was no lack of life now in the Avide court- 
 yards, though the year claimed by Uma's pride had 
 scarcely gone by. And there was more to come 
 ere the sunset, if the gossips said sooth as they 
 passed in and out, setting the iron knife (suspended 
 
224 UMA HIMAYTJTEE 
 
 on a string above the inner door) a-swinging as 
 they elbowed it aside. From within came a babel 
 of voices, striving to speak softly and so sinking 
 into a sort of sibilant hiss, broken by one querulous 
 cry of intermittent complaint. Without, in the 
 bigger courtyard was a cackle and clamour, joyfully 
 excited, round a platter of sugar-drops set for due 
 refreshment of the neighbours. It would be a boy, 
 for sure, they said, the omens being all propitious 
 and Purm-eshwar^ well aware of the Avorthiness of 
 the household. But, good lack ! what ways foreign 
 women had ! There was tlie girl's mother, disre- 
 garding this old custom, performing that new mum- 
 mery as if there were no canon of right and wrong ; 
 yet they were — those town women — of the race, 
 doubtless of the same race ! It was passing strange ; 
 nevertheless Uma herself did bravely, having always 
 been of the wise sort. She had given the word 
 back keenly but now to Mai Radlia who, as usual, 
 had her pestle in the mortar, and must needs join 
 in the strange woman's hints that the first wife 
 was better away from the sufferer's sight. Pura- 
 mesh I What an idea ! She had spoken sharp and 
 fair, as was right, seeing that it Avas hard above the 
 common on Uma — so young, so handsome, so Avell- 
 beloved ! Many a pious one in her place, with no 
 mother-in-law to deal Avith — only two soft-hearted, 
 1 The Universal God. 
 
UMA HIMAVUTEE 225 
 
 sof t -tongued men — would have closed the door on 
 another wedding yet awhile, and bided on Provi- 
 dence longer. Small blame either. It was not ten 
 3^ears since those two had come together ; while as 
 for affection 
 
 The rush of words slackened as the object of it 
 set the swinging knife aside, and came forward to 
 see that naught was lacking to the hospitality of 
 the house. With those strange women within, lord- 
 ing it over all hy virtue of their relationship to 
 the expectant mother, it behoved her honour to see 
 that there was no possible ground for complaint. 
 It was a year since Uma had flung herself face 
 down upon the wheat, and now the yellow corn 
 once more la}^ in heaps upon the white tlireshing- 
 floor. Another liarvest had been sown and watered 
 and reaped; but Uma was waiting for hers. And 
 her mind was in a tumult of jealous fear. Shivo 
 Avith all his goodness, his kindness to her, could 
 scarcely help loving the mother of his child better 
 than the woman who had failed to bring him one. 
 How could she take that other woman's son in her 
 arms and hold it up for the father's first look ? 
 Yet that would be her part. 
 
 The strain of the thought showed in her face as 
 she moved about seeing to this and that, speaking 
 to those other women serenely, cheerfully. Her 
 pride ensured so much, 
 <^ 
 
226 UMA HIMAVUTEE 
 
 Within, the coming grandmother heaved a very 
 purposeful sigh of relief at her absence. The pa- 
 tient would be better now that those glowering eyes 
 were away. Whereat Mai Radha, the time-server, 
 nodded her head sagely ; but the girlish voice from 
 the bed, set round with lamps and flowers, rose in 
 fretful denial. 
 
 "■ Hold thy peace, mother. Thou canst not un- 
 derstand, being of the town. It is different here 
 in the village." 
 
 The mother giggled, nudging her neighbour. 
 " Nine to credit, ten to debit ! That's true of a 
 first wife, town and country. But think as thou 
 wilt, honey ! Trust me to see she throws no evil 
 eye on thee or the child. She shall not even see 
 it till the fateful days be over." 
 
 The village midwife, an old crone sitting smok- 
 ing a pipe at the foot of the bed, laughed. 
 
 " Thou art out there, mother ! "lis her part, 
 her right, to show the babe to its father. That 
 is old fashion and we hold to it." 
 
 " Show it to its father ! Good lack ! Heard 
 one ever the like I " shrilled the indignant grand- 
 mother to be. ''Why, with us he must not see it 
 for days. Is it not so, friends?" 
 
 The town-bred contingent clamoured shocked as- 
 sent ; the midwife and her cronies stood firm. Uma, 
 appealed to by a deputation, met the quarrel coldly. 
 
UMA HIMAVUTEE 227 
 
 "I care not," she said; "settle it as you please. 
 I am ready to hold the child or not." 
 
 So a compromise was effected between the dis- 
 putants within, before the beating of brass trays 
 announced the happy birth of a son, and they 
 came trooping into the outer court full of words 
 and explanations. But Uma heard nothing and 
 saw nothing except the crying, frog-like morsel 
 of humanity they thrust into her unwilling arms. 
 So that was Shivo's child ! How ugly, and what 
 an ill-tempered little thing. Suddenly the gur- 
 gling cry ceased, as instinctively she folded her 
 veil about the struggling, naked limbs. 
 
 " So ! So ! " cried the gossips, pushing and pull- 
 ing joyfully, excitedly. " Yonder is the master ! 
 All is ready." 
 
 She set her teeth for the ordeal and let herself 
 be thrust towards Shivo, who was seated by the 
 door, his back towards her. She had not seen him 
 since the advent of the gossips at dawn had driven 
 the men-kind from the homestead. And now the 
 sun was setting redly, as on that evening a year 
 ago when she had told him they were too few for 
 the house. Well, there were more now. And this 
 was the worst. Now she was to see love grow to 
 his face for the child which was not hers, knowing 
 that love for its mother must grow also unseen 
 in his heart. 
 
228 UMA HIMAVUTEE 
 
 " So ! So ! " cried the busy, unsympathetic voices 
 intent on their own plans. " Hold the child so, 
 sister, above his shoulders, and bid him take his 
 first look at a son." 
 
 The old dogged determination to leave nothing 
 undone which should be done, strengthened her 
 to raise the baby as she was bid, stoop with it 
 over Shivo's shoulder and say, almost coldly : 
 
 " I bring thee thy son, husband. Look on it 
 and take its image to thine heart." 
 
 Then she gave a quick, incredulous cry ; for, 
 as she stooped, she saw her own face reflected in 
 the brass-ringed mirror formed by the wide mouth 
 of the brimming water-pot, which was set on the 
 floor before Shiv-deo ! 
 
 " Higher ! sister ! higher," cried the groups. 
 " Let him see the babe in the water for luck's 
 sake. So ! Ari! father, is not that a son indeed! 
 Wah! the sweetest doll." 
 
 Sweet enough, in truth, looked the reflection of 
 that tiny face where her own had been. Slie let 
 it stay there for a second or two; then a sudden 
 curiosity came to her and she drew aside almost 
 roughly, still keeping her eyes on the water- 
 mirror. Ah! there was her husband's face now, 
 with a look in it that she had never seen before 
 — the look of fatherhood. 
 
 Without a word she thrust her burden back 
 
UMA HIMAVUTEE 229 
 
 into other arms, asking impatiently if that were 
 all, or if they needed more of her services. 
 
 "More indeed," muttered the grandmother 
 tartly as she disappeared again, intent on sugar 
 and spices, behind the swinging knife. " Sure 
 some folk had small labour or pains over this 
 day's good work. Lucky for the master that 
 there be other women in the world." 
 
 Uma looked after her silently, beset by a great 
 impatience of the noise and the congratulations. 
 She wanted to get away from it all, from those 
 Avhispers and giggles heard from within, and 
 interrupted every now and then by that new 
 gurgling cry. The excitement was over, the 
 gossips were departing one by one, Shivo and 
 his father were being dragged off to the village 
 square for a pipe of peace and thanksgiving. No 
 one wanted her now; her part in the house was 
 done, and out yonder in the gathering twilight 
 the lieaps of corn were alone ; as she was. She 
 could at least see to their safety for a while and 
 have time to remember those faces ; hers, and the 
 child's, and Shivo's. 
 
 Well ! it was all over now. No wonder they 
 did not need her any more since she had done 
 all — yea ! she had done her duty to the utter- 
 most ! 
 
 A sort of passionate resentment at her own 
 
230 UMA HIMAVUTEE 
 
 virtue filled her mind as, wearied out with the 
 physical strain, she lay down to rest upon the 
 yielding yellow wheat. How soft it was, how 
 cool. She nestled into it, head, hands, feet, gain- 
 ing a certain consolation from the mere comfort 
 to her tired body. And as she looked out over 
 her husband's fields, the very knowledge that the 
 harvest had been reaped and gathered soothed 
 her ; besides, in the years to come there would 
 be other hands for other harvests. That was also 
 as it should be. And yet? She turned her face 
 down into the wheat. 
 
 " Shivo ! Shivo ! " she sobbed into the fruits 
 of the harvest which she had helped to sow and 
 gather. " Shivo ! Shivo ! " 
 
 But to her creed marriage had for its object 
 the preservation of the hearth fire, not the fire 
 of passion, and the jealousy which is a virtue to 
 the civilised was a crime to this barbarian. 
 
 So, as she lay half-hidden in the harvested corn, 
 the thought of the baby's face, and hers, and 
 Shivo's — all, all in the water-mirror, brought her 
 in a confused half-comprehending way a certain 
 comfort from their very companionship. So, by 
 degrees, the strain passed from mind and body, 
 leaving her asleep, with slackened curves, upon 
 the heap of corn. Asleep peacefully until a hand 
 touched her shoulder gently, and in the soft 
 
UMA HIMAVUTEE 231 
 
 grey dawn she saw her husband standmg beside 
 her. 
 
 She rose slowly, drawing her veil closer with 
 a shiver, for the air was chill. 
 
 "I have been seeking thee since nightfall, 
 wife," he said in gentle reproach, with a ring of 
 relief in his voice, "I feared — I know not what 
 — that thou hadst thought me churlish, perhaps, 
 because I did not thank thee for — for thy son." 
 
 His hand sought hers and found it, as they stood 
 side by side looking out over the fields with the 
 eyes of those whose lives are spent in sowing and 
 reaping, looking out over the wide sweep of bare 
 earth and beyond it, on the northern horizon, the 
 dim, dawn-lit peaks of the Himalayas. 
 
 '' He favours her in the face, husband," she said 
 quietly, ''but he hath thy form. That is as it 
 should be, for thou art strong and she is fair." 
 
 So, as they went homeward through the lighten- 
 ing fields, — she a dutiful step behind the man, — 
 the printing presses over at the other side of the 
 world were busy, amid flaring gas-jets and the 
 clamour of marvellous machinery, in discussing in 
 a thousand ways the dreary old problems of whether 
 marriage is a failure or not. 
 
 It was not so to Uma-devi. 
 
YOUNG LOCHINVAR 
 
 Young Lochinvar, in the original story, came 
 out of the West. In this tale he came out of the 
 East, and the most match-making mamma might 
 be disposed to forgive him ; partly on account of 
 his youth, partly because he really was not a free 
 agent. 
 
 They were cousins of course. In the finest race 
 of the Panjab — possibly of the world — cousins 
 have a right to cousins provided the relationship 
 lie through the mother's brother, or the father's 
 sister ; the converse, for some mysterious reason, 
 being anathema maranatha. 
 
 But Nanuk's mother, wife of big Suchet Singh, 
 head man of Aluwallah village, was sister to Dhyan 
 Singh, the armourer, who plied his trade in the 
 little courtyard hidden right in the heart of the 
 big city. A big man too, high-featured and hand- 
 some ; high-tempered also as the steel which he 
 inlaid so craftily with gold. For all that, round, 
 podgy Mai Gunga, his wife, ruled him by virtue 
 of a smartness unknown to his slower, gentler 
 
 232 
 
YOUNG LOCHIXVAR 233 
 
 nature. Not so gentle, however, but that he 
 mourned the degeneracy of these latter piping 
 days of peace. They and the Arms Act had 
 driven him from the manufacture of sword hilts 
 and helmets, shields and corselets, to that of 
 plaques and inkstands, candlesticks and ashtrays. 
 From the means of resistance to the decoration of 
 victorious drawing-rooms. Not that he nourished 
 ill-feeling against those victors. They were a brave 
 lot, and since then his people had helped them 
 bravely to keep their winnings. Only it was dull 
 work ; so every now and again Dhyan Singh re- 
 venged himself by making a paper knife in the 
 form of some bloodthirsty lethal weapon, and put 
 his best work on it, just to keep his hand in. 
 
 Little Pertabi, his daughter, used to sit and watch 
 her father at the tiny forge set in the central sun- 
 shine of the yard. It was funny to see the shaving 
 of sheer steel curl up from the graver guided in 
 its flowing curves by nothing but that skilled eye 
 and hand ; funnier still to watch the gold wire 
 nestle down so obediently into the groove ; funniest 
 of all to blow the bellows when the time came to 
 put that iridescent blue temper to the finished 
 work. 
 
 Then, naked to the waist, the soft brown hair 
 on her forehead plaited in tiniest plaits into a looped 
 fringe, a little gold filigree cup poised on the top 
 
234 YOUNG LOCHINVAR 
 
 of her head, a long betasselled pigtail hanging down 
 behind, Pertabi would set her short red-trousered 
 legs very far apart, and puff and blow, and laugh, 
 and then blow again to her own and her father's 
 intense delight ; for Dhyan having a couple of 
 strapping sons to satisfy Mai Gunga's heart 
 felt himself free to adore this child of his later 
 years. 
 
 But even when there was blowing to be done, 
 Pertabi did not find life in the city half as amus- 
 ing as life out in the village at her aunt's with 
 cousin Nanuk as a playfellow. Nanuk to whom 
 she was to be married by and by. That had been 
 settled when she w^as a baby in arms, for in those, 
 and for many years after, Suchet Singh's wife and 
 Mai Gunga had been as friendly as sisters-in-law 
 can well be. That is to say there were visits to 
 the village for change of air, especially at sugar- 
 baking time, while those who wished for shopping 
 or society came as a matter of course to the ar- 
 mourer's house. The world wags in the same 
 fashion East and West ; especially among the 
 women folk. 
 
 " They will make a fine pair ! God keep them 
 to the auspicious day," the deep-chested country- 
 women would say piously ; then Mai Gunga would 
 giggle a bit, and remark that if Nanuk grcAV so 
 fast she would have to leave Pertabi at home next 
 
YOUNG LOCHINVAR 235 
 
 time. Whereupon the boy's mother woiihl flare 
 up, and sniff, as country folk do, at town ideas. 
 In her family such talk had never been necessary ; 
 the lads and lasses grew up together, and mothers 
 were in no hurry to bring age and thought upon 
 them. Perhaps that was the reason why men and 
 women alike were of goodly stature and strength ; 
 for even Mai Gunga must admit that Dhyan was 
 at least a fine figure of a man. So there would be 
 words to while away the hours before the men re- 
 turned from the fields. And outside, under the 
 bushy mulberry trees, Pertabi and Naiiuk would be 
 fighting and making it up again in the cosmopolitan 
 fashion of healthy children. Of the two Pertabi, 
 perhaps, hit the hardest ; she certainly howled the 
 loudest, being a wilful young person. Nanuk used 
 to implore her not to tease the sacred peacocks, 
 when they came sedately by companies to drink 
 at the village tank, as the sun set red over the 
 limitless plane of young green corn, and she would 
 squat down suddenly on her red-trousered heels 
 with her hands tight clasped behind her back, and 
 promise to be as still as a grey crane if she might 
 only look. Then some vainglorious cock was sure 
 to show off his tail ; every tail was to Pertabi's 
 eager eyes the most beautiful one in the world, 
 and she must needs have a feather — just one little 
 feather — from it as a keepsake — just a little keep- 
 
236 YOUNG LOCHINVAR 
 
 sake. Now, what Pertabi desired she got, at any 
 rate if Nanuk had aught to say towards the possi- 
 bility. So the little tyrant would play with the 
 feather for five minutes; then fling it away. But 
 Nanuk, serious, conscientious Nanuk, would set aside 
 half his supper of curds on the sly and sneak out 
 with it after sundown as an oblation to the mys- 
 terious village god, who lived in a red splashed 
 stone under the peepul tree. Else the peacocks 
 being angry might not cry for rain, and then what 
 would become of the green corn? Nanuk was a 
 born cultivator, true in most things, above all to 
 Mother Earth. Despite the peacocks' feathers, how- 
 ever, not without a will of his own ; for when, on 
 one of his visits to the city, Pertabi insisted on 
 handling the little squirrel he brought with him 
 housed in his high turban, and it bit her, he 
 laughed, saying he had told her so ; nay, more, 
 when she chased the frightened little creature sav- 
 agely, howling for vengeance, he fell upon her 
 and boxed her ears soundly, much to Mai Gunga's 
 displeasure. A rough village lout, and her dar- 
 ling the daintiest little morsel of flesh ! 
 
 " I don't care," sobbed Pertabi ; " I'll bite him 
 hard next time — yes! I Avill, Nano ; you'll see 
 if I don't." 
 
 Mai Gunga, however, was right in one thing. 
 Pertabi was an extremely pretty child. The gos- 
 
YOUNG LOCH INVAR 237 
 
 sips coming in of an afternoon to discuss births, 
 marriages, and deaths took to shaking their heads 
 and saying that she miglit have made a better 
 match than Nanuk, who, every one thought, Avould 
 limp for life in consequence of that fall from the 
 topmost branch of the sMsliam tree where the 
 squirrels built their nests. Not much of a limp, 
 perhaps, but who did not know that under the 
 bone-setter's care a broken leg often came out a 
 bit shorter than the other, even if it was as strong 
 as ever ? Mai Gunga's plump, pert face hardened, 
 but she said nothing ; not even when a \\q\y ac- 
 quaintance, the Avife of a rich contractor on the 
 lookout for a bride of good family, openly be- 
 wailed the prior claim on Pertabi. 
 
 Nevertheless the next time that the sister-in-law 
 'came to town, and on leaving it laden with end- 
 less bundles wrapped in Manchester handkerchiefs 
 spoke confidently of the meeting at sugar-time, 
 Mai Gunga threw difficulties in the way. She was 
 too busy to come herself ; Nanuk, still a semi- 
 invalid, must be quite sufficient charge for her 
 sister-in-law. Besides seeing that Pertabi touched 
 the eights, she thought it time for village customs 
 to give way to greater decorum. Briefly, despite 
 the peculiar virtue of some people's families, she 
 did not choose that lier daughter should be out 
 of her sight. The two women, as might be sup- 
 
238 YOUNG LOCHINVAR 
 
 posed, parted Avith ceremony and effusion ; but 
 Suchet Singh's wife had barely arrived in the 
 wide vilhige courtyards ere she burst forth : 
 
 " Mark my words ! " she said, even as she dis- 
 posed her bundles about her. "That town-bred 
 woman means mischief. I was a fool to give in 
 to you and Dhyan, instead of having the barber, 
 as to a stranger. Not that I want the little hussy 
 above other brides, but I would not have Nanuk 
 slighted." 
 
 Suchet Singh laughed. 
 
 " Tv/enty mile of an eklca hath shook thy brains 
 out, wife. What talk is this ? They are two 
 halves of one pea. As friend Elahi Buksh saith, 
 '•do dil razi to hia hare kazif (when two are 
 heart to heart, where's the parson's part ?) " 
 
 " Tra I That's neither in three nor thirteen,"' 
 retorted his wife. " Give me the barber ^ for cer- 
 tainty." ' 
 
 Meanwhile Pertabi was howling in the little 
 courtyard, much to big, soft-hearted Dhyan's dis- 
 tress. 
 
 ''Let her go, but this once," he pleaded aside; 
 "truly thou art over anxious, and slie but seven 
 for all her spirit." 
 
 " Seventy or seven, God knows thee for a baby," 
 snapped Mai Gunga. " Would I had never listened 
 1 The barber is always employed in regular betrothals. 
 
YOUNG LOCHINYAR 239 
 
 to thee and thy sister, though, for sure, the chil- 
 dren were pretty as marionettes. It was a play 
 to think of it. But a mother knows her daughter 
 better than the father, though it seems thou wilt 
 be ordering the wedding-garments next. So be it, 
 but till then Pertab goes not to Nanuk; 'tis not 
 seemly." 
 
 "I — I don't want Nanuk," howled Pertabi. 
 "I — I want the fresh molasses — I do — I do." 
 
 Want, however, was her master, since her own 
 obstinacy was but inherited from her mother. So 
 she sat sulkily in the sunshine, refusing the ar- 
 mourer's big caresses or the charms of bellows- 
 blowing, while she pictured to herself, with all the 
 vividness of rage, Nanuk going down — going down 
 alone — to watch the great shallow pans of foamy, 
 frothy, fragrant juice shrink and shrink in the 
 dark, low hut where one could scarcely see save 
 for the flame of the furnaces. What joy to feed 
 those flames with the dry, crushed refuse of the 
 cane and leaves I What bliss to thrust a tentative 
 twig, on the sly, into the seething, darkening mo- 
 lasses, and then escape deftly to that shadowy 
 hiding-place by the well, and gravely consider the 
 question as to whether it was nearly boiled enough. 
 Toffee-making all over the world has a mysterious 
 fascination for children, and this was toffee-making 
 on a gigantic scale. The legitimate bairn's part of 
 
240 YOUNG LOCHINVAR 
 
 scraping from each brew never tasted half so sweet 
 as those stolen morsels ; if only because, when you 
 threw away the sucked twigs, the squirrels would 
 come shyly from the peepul tree where the green 
 pigeons cooed all day long, and fight for your leav- 
 ings. Pertabi could see the whole scene when she 
 closed her eyes. The level plain, the shadow of 
 the trees blotting out the sunshine, the trickle 
 of running Avater from the well, the creaking of 
 the presses, the babel of busy voices, and over all, 
 through all, that lovely, lovely smell of toffee! 
 Yes I sugar-baking time in the village was heavenly, 
 and Nanuk was greedy — greedy as a grey crow to 
 keep it all to himself ! 
 
 When Spring brought big Suchet to pay the 
 village revenue into the office, he and tlie armourer 
 met, as ever, on the best of terms; nevertheless 
 their subsequent interviews with their woman-kind 
 were less satisfactory. 
 
 " Thou art worse than a peacock which cries even 
 after rain has fallen," finished the big villager 
 testily. ''What is it to me if women come or go? 
 Dhyan is a man of mettle and word." 
 
 Yet in his heart he knew well that the armourer 
 had no more to say to such matters in the narrow 
 city court, than he had in the wide village yard, 
 where the kine stood in rows, and Nanuk's tumbler 
 pigeons never lacked a grain of corn at which to peck. 
 
YOUNG LOCHINVAR 241 
 
 As for Mai Gunga, her wrath became finally 
 voluble at the hint thrown out by big Dhyan, 
 that if she went no more to the village, folk might 
 talk of Pertab being slighted. Slighted, indeed, 
 with half the eligible mothers agog with envy ! 
 Slighted, when but for this cripple — yea ! Dhyan 
 need not make four eyes at her — she said cripple, 
 and meant it. He had a broken leg, and that to 
 a man of sense was sufficient excuse for breach of 
 betrothals. If, indeed, there ever had been such a 
 thing as a betrothal ; which for her part she denied. 
 
 Dhy^n Singh swore many big oaths, vowed many 
 mighty vows that he would have naught to do 
 with such woman's work. Not even if it became 
 clear that, as his wife hinted, his little Pertab 
 would not be welcome in his sister's house. Yet 
 he scowled over the idea, twisted his beard tighter 
 over his ears, as became a man, and looked very 
 fierce. And when a month or two later Suchet 
 Singh's wife met his halting apology for Mai 
 Gunga's absence with a distinct sniff and a cool 
 remark that she really did not care, — Nanuk could 
 no doubt do better in brides, — he came home in 
 a towering passion to his anvil and made a paper 
 knife fit for a brigand. To have such a thing 
 said to him, even in jest, when he, for his sister's 
 sake, had been willing to waive the fact of Nanuk 
 being a cripple I 
 
242 YOUNG LOCHINYAR 
 
 "Cripple indeed!" shrieked the boy's mother, 
 when Suchet came back from the city one day 
 with Dhyan's remark enlarged and illustrated by 
 friendly gossip. " Lo, husband ! That is an end. 
 Whose fault if he limps ? — only in running, mind, 
 not in walking. Whose indeed ! Whose but that 
 immodest, wicked, ill-brought-up hussy's ! Was it 
 not to get her another squirrel, because she cried 
 so for his, that he climbed ? Let her have her 
 girl ; we will have damages." 
 
 So when sugar-baking time came round again, 
 Suchet and Dhyan, rather to their own surprise, 
 found themselves claimant and defendant in a 
 breach of betrothal case for the recovery of fifteen 
 hundred rupees spent in preliminary expenses. Yet, 
 despite their surprise, they were both beside them- 
 selves Avith rage. Dhyan because of the unscrupu- 
 lous claim when not one penny had been spent, 
 Suchet because of the slur cast on his boy's 
 straight limbs by the secondary plea in defence ; 
 that even if there had been a betrothal and not 
 a family understanding, the crippled condition of 
 the bridegroom was sufficient excuse for the breach 
 of contract. The actual point of the betrothal be- 
 ing so effectually overlaid by these lies as to be 
 obscured even from the litigant's own eyes. 
 
 It was one gorgeous blue day in December that 
 Suchet rode in to the city on his pink-nosed mare, 
 
YOUNG LOCHINVAR 243 
 
 with Naniik on the crupper to bear witness in 
 Court to his own perfections. A handsome, soft- 
 eyed Lad of ten, glad enough of the ride, sorry 
 for the separation, even for one day, from the vil- 
 lage toffee-making ; but Avith a great lump of raw 
 sugar stowed away in his turban as partial conso- 
 lation. For the rest, he had a childish and yet 
 grave acquiescence. Pertabi apparently had been 
 a naughty girl, and Mammi Gunga had never been 
 nice. Yet the ''jej -sahib '' ^ might say they were 
 married ; since, after all, he, Nanuk, could run as 
 fast as ever. Tehu! he would like to show Per- 
 tabi that it was so. 
 
 The court-house compound was full of suitors 
 and flies, the case of Suchet versus Dhyan Singh 
 late in the list, so the former bade his son tie the 
 mare in the furthest corner behind the wall, in 
 the shade of a spreading tree, and keep Avatch, 
 while he went about from group to group in order 
 to discuss his wrongs with various old friends — 
 that being half the joy of going to law ; grave 
 groups of reverend bearded faces round a central 
 pipe, grave, slow voices rising in wise saws from 
 the close-set circles of huge turbans and massive 
 blue and white draperies. 
 
 Meanwhile Nanuk ate sugar till it began to 
 taste sickly, and then he sat looking at the re- 
 1 Judge. 
 
244 YOUNG LOCHINVAR 
 
 maining lump and thinking, not without a certain 
 malice, how Pert^bi would have enjoyed it. Then 
 suddenly, from behind, a small brown hand reached 
 out and snatched it. " One two, that's for you; 
 two tliree^ tJiafs for me; three four, sugar galore; 
 the Rajah begs, ivith a hrokeyi leg " The sing- 
 ing voice paused, the little figure munching, as it 
 sang, with vindictive eyes upon the boy, paused 
 too in its tantalising dance. 
 
 "Did it hurt much, Nano? I'm so sorry. And 
 mother wouldn't let me keep the squirrel, Nano ; 
 but I howled, I howled like — like a hhut (devil)." 
 
 The abstract truth of the description seemed to 
 bring back the past, and Nanuk's face relaxed. 
 
 " Father's at Court, and mother's gone to see the 
 woman who wants me to inarry her son," explained 
 Pertabi between the munchings, "but I won't. I 
 won't marry anybody but you, Nano. I like 3^ou, 
 Nano." 
 
 Nano's face relaxed still more. 
 
 " You have got sugar-presses, Nano, and the 
 other boy has none. He lives in the city, and 
 I hate the city. Is there much sugar this year, 
 Nano?" 
 
 "More than last," replied the boy proudly. "We 
 have the best fields in " 
 
 " Then give me another bit," interrupted Pertabi. 
 
 "That is all I brought." There was a trace of 
 
YOUNG LOCHINVAB 245 
 
 anxiety in Nanuk's voice, and he looked deprecat- 
 ingly at the little figure now cuddled up beside him. 
 
 " Oh, you silly ! but it doesn't matter. We can 
 go and fetch some more. That's why I ran away. 
 I knew uncle would bring you, so we can go to 
 the village early. Come, Nano." 
 
 " Go to the village, Pertab ! Oh, what a tale ! " 
 It is easy to be virtuously indignant at the first 
 proposition of evil, but what is to be done when 
 you are at the mercy of a small person who hesi- 
 tates at nothing ? Wheedlings, pinchings, hissings, 
 tears, and promises were all one to Pertabi. At 
 least a ride on the pink- nosed mare for the sake 
 of old times ! They could slip away easily with- 
 out being seen ; yonder lay the road villagewards 
 — there would be plenty of time to go a mile, per- 
 haps twain, and get back before CJiachcha-ji could 
 possibly finish with his friends. She could get off 
 at the corner, and then even if Chachcha-ji had dis- 
 covered their absence Nano could say he had taken 
 the mare for water, or that the flies were trouble- 
 some. Excuses were so easy. 
 
 Ten minutes after, his feet barely reaching the 
 big shovel stirrups, young Lochinvar ambled out 
 of the court-house compound with his bride behind 
 him. 
 
 " We must come back at the turn, Pertab," he 
 said, to bolster up his own resolution. 
 
246 YOUNG LOCHINVAR 
 
 " Of course we must come back," replied Pertabi, 
 digging her small heels into the old grey mare. 
 " Can't you make the stupid go faster, Nano ? We 
 may as well have all the fun we can." 
 
 So the old mare went faster down the high- 
 arched avenue of flickering light and shade, and 
 Pertabi's little red legs flounced about in a way 
 suggestive of falling off. But she shrieked with 
 laughter and held tight to her cavalier. 
 
 " Don't let us go back yet, Nano ! " she pleaded ; 
 " the old thing is all out of breath, and Chachcha-ji 
 will find out you've been galloping her, and beat 
 you. I shouldn't like you to be beaten, Nano dear, 
 and it is so lovely." 
 
 It was lovely. They were in the open now among 
 the level stretches of young green corn, and there 
 were the fallen battalions of red and gold canes, 
 and from that clump of trees came the familiar 
 creak of the press. Nay, more ! wafted on the soft 
 breeze the delicious, the irresistible smell of sugar- 
 boiling. Other people's sugar-boiling. 
 
 '^It's time we were going back," remarked Nanuk 
 boldly. 
 
 ''Tchuf' cried Pertabi from behind, ''we are not 
 going back any more. See ! I've tied your shawl 
 to my veil. When I do that to my dolls, then 
 they are married ; so that settles it. Go on, 
 Nano ! it's all right. Besides it is no use going 
 
YOUNG LOCHINVAR 247 
 
 back now, they would onl}^ beat us for getting 
 married. Go on, Nano — or Til pinch." 
 
 Perliaps it really was fear of the pinching, per- 
 haps it was the conviction that they had gone too 
 far to recede, which finally induced young Lochin- 
 yar to give the old mare her head towards home. 
 But even then he showed none of the alacrity dis- 
 played beneath him and behind him by the female 
 aiders and abettors. His face grew graver and 
 graver, longer and longer. 
 
 " We can't be married until we've taken the 
 seven steps," he said at length. "Look! they have 
 been burning weeds in the field. Let's get down 
 and do it, or the gods will be angry." 
 
 Pertabi clapped her hands. "It will be fun, any- 
 how, so come along, Nano." 
 
 They tied the old mare to a tree, while, hand 
 tight clasped in hand, just as they had seen it done a 
 hundred times, they circumambulated the sacred fire. 
 
 "That's better," sighed Nano. "Now, I believe, 
 we really are married." 
 
 " Tchii ! " cried Pertabi in superior wisdom, " I 
 can tell you heaps and heaps of things. Our dolls 
 do them when we've time ; we are always marry- 
 ing our dolls in the city. But we can ride a bit 
 further first, and when we get tired of Pinky-nose 
 we can just get down and be married another 
 way. That'll rest us." 
 
248 YOUNG LOCHINVAE 
 
 So through the lengthening shadows, they rode 
 on and got married, rode on, and got married, until 
 Pertabi's braided head began to nod against Nanuk's 
 back, and she said sleepily : 
 
 " We'll keep the gur-ror (sugar-throwing) till to- 
 morrow, Nano ; that'll be fun." 
 
 But when, in the deep dusk, the pink-nosed mare 
 drew up of her own accord at the gate of the wide 
 village yard, and drowsy Nanuk just remembered 
 enough of past events to lift his bride across the 
 threshold, and murmur with an aw^ful qualm, "This 
 is my wife," Pertabi woke up suddenly to plant 
 her little red-trousered legs firmly on the ground, 
 and say, with a nod : 
 
 " Yes I and we've been married every Avay we 
 could think of, haven't we, Nano ? except the sugar- 
 throwing, because we hadn't any ; but — we'll — 
 have — plenty — now ; won't we, Nano ? " The 
 pauses being filled up by yawns. 
 
 It was midnight before Suchet Singh and Dhyan, 
 forgetful of their enmity in over-mastering anxiety, 
 arrived on the scene. The culprits were then fast 
 asleep, and the deep-chested country-woman, having 
 recovered the shock, was beginning to find a difti- 
 culty in telling the tale without smiles. A diffi- 
 culty which, by degrees, extended itself to her 
 hearers. 
 
 " Ho ! ho ! ho ! " exploded Suchet suddenly ; 
 
YOUNG LOCHINVAR 249 
 
 "and so they didn't even forget the forehead 
 mark. I'll be bound that was Nanuk — the rogue." 
 
 "Ho ! ho ! ho ! " echoed the armourer ; "as like as 
 not it was Pertab. The sharpest little marionette." 
 
 " Well, 'tis done, anyhow," said the woman de- 
 cisively. " We can't have it said in our family, 
 ]3hyan, that the vermilion on a girl's head came 
 save from her husband's fingers. He ! he ! he ! 
 Couldst but have seen them. ' This is my wife,' 
 quoth he. ' And we've been married every way 
 we could think of,' pipes she. ' Haven't we, Nano?' 
 The prettiest pair — Lord ! I shall laugh for ever." 
 
 "And — and Gunga?" faltered the armourer. 
 
 "Gunga's brain is not addled," retorted her sister- 
 in-law sharply. " Who bruises a plum before taking 
 it to market ? What's done is done. We must 
 cook the wedding feast without delay, have in the 
 barber, and keep a still tongue." 
 
 So, ere many days were over, Pertabi and Nanuk, 
 as bride and bridegroom, watched the fire-balloons 
 go up into the cloudless depths of purple sky. The 
 boy watching them shyly, yet with absorbing in- 
 terest ; for did not their course denote the favour 
 or disfavour of the gods ? 
 
 "The omens are auspicious," he said contentedly; 
 but Pertabi was in a hurry for the sugar-throwing, 
 in which she aided her bridesmaids with such vigour 
 that Nanuk had a black eye for several days. 
 
250 YOUNG LOCHINVAII 
 
 " If you were to ask me, and ask me, and ask me 
 to lift you on old Pinky-nose again, I'd yiever do it 
 — never ! ^^ \iQ declared vindictively. 
 
 " Oil, yes ! you would, Nano," replied his wife 
 with the utmost confidence, "you would if I asked 
 you ; besides you really wanted to be married, 
 you know you did. And then there Avas the fresh 
 molasses." 
 
A BIT OF LAND 
 
 He stood in the hot yellow sunshine, his air of 
 modest importance forming a halo round his old 
 rickety figure, as with one hand he clung to a 
 plane-table, old and rickety as himself, and with 
 the other to one of those large-eyed, keen-faced 
 Indian boys who seem to have been sent into the 
 world in order to take scholarships. The old man, 
 on the contrary, was of the monkey type of his race, 
 small, bandy-legged, and inconceivably wrinkled, 
 with a three days' growth of grey beard frosting 
 his brown cheeks ; only the wide-set brown eyes 
 had a certain wristful beauty in them. 
 
 In front of those appealing eyes sat a ruddy- 
 faced Englishman backed by the white wings of 
 an office tent and deep in the calf-bound books 
 and red-taped files on the table before him. On 
 either side, discreetly drawn apart so as to allow 
 the central group its full picturesque value, were 
 tall figures, massive in beards and wide turbans, in 
 falling folds of dingy white and indigo blue; 
 
 251 
 
252 A BIT OF LAND 
 
 massive also in broad, capable features, made broader 
 still by callable approving smiles over the old man, 
 the boy, and the plane-table. So standing they 
 Avere a typical group of J at peasantry appealing 
 with confidence to English justice for the observ- 
 ance of Indian custom. 
 
 ''Then the head-men are satisfied with this ad- 
 interim arrangement?" asked the palpably foreign 
 voice. The semicircle of writers and subordinate 
 officials on the striped carpet beyond the table 
 moved their heads like clockwork figures to the 
 circle of peasants, as if giving it permission to 
 speak, and a chorus of guttural voices rose in 
 assent ; then, after village fashion, one voice pro- 
 longed itself in representative explanation. "It 
 will be but for three years or so, and the Shelter- 
 of-the-World is aware that the fields cannot run 
 away. And old Tulsi knows how to make the 
 Three-Legged-One Avork ; thus there is no fear." 
 The speaker thrust a declamatory hand in the di- 
 rection of the plane-table, and the chorus of assent 
 rose once more. 
 
 So the matter was settled; the matter being, 
 briefly, the appointment of a new putwari, in other 
 words the official who measures the fields, and pre- 
 pares the yearly harvest-map, showing the area 
 under cultivation on which the Land Revenue has 
 to be paid ; in other words again, the man who 
 
A BIT OF LAND 253 
 
 stands between India and bankruptcy. In this 
 particular case the recently defunct incumbent 
 had left a son who was as yet over young for 
 the hereditary office, and the head-men had pro- 
 posed putting in the boy's maternal grandfather 
 as a substitute, until the former could pass through 
 the necessary modern training in the Accountants' 
 College at head- quarters. The proposition was 
 fair enough, seeing that Gurditta was sure to 
 pass, as he was already head of the queer little 
 village school which the elders viewed with in- 
 credulous tolerance. And, to tell the truth, their 
 doubts were not without some reason ; for on that 
 very day when the Englishman was inspecting, 
 the first class had bungled over a simple revenue 
 sum, which any one could do in his head with 
 the aid, of course, of the ten God-given fingers 
 without which the usurer would indeed be king. 
 The master had explained the mistake by saying 
 that it was no fault of the rules, and only arose 
 because the boys had forgotten which was the 
 bigger of two numbers; but that in itself Avas 
 something over which to chuckle under their 
 breaths and nudge each other on the sly. Ari 
 hail the lads would be forgetting next which 
 end of the plough to hold, the share or the 
 handle! But Puriimeshvar'^ be praised! only 
 1 The Universal God. 
 
254 A BIT OF LAND 
 
 upon their slates could they forget it ; since a 
 true-born Jat's hand could never lose such know- 
 ledge. 
 
 So, underlying the manifest convenience of not 
 allowing a stranger's finger in their pie, the elders of 
 the village had a secondary consideration in plead- 
 ing for old Tulsi Ram's appointment ; a desire, 
 namely, to show the world at large and the Presence 
 in particular that there had been putwaries before 
 he came to cast his mantle of protection over the 
 poor. Besides, old Tulsi, though he looked like 
 a monkey, might be Sri Hunuman ^ liimself in the 
 wisdom necessary for settling the thousand petty 
 disputes, without wdiicli the village would be so 
 dull. Then he was a real saint to boot, all the 
 more saintly because he was willing to forego his 
 preparation for another world in order to keep a 
 place warm for his grandson in this. 
 
 And after all it was only for three j^ears ! 
 They, and Tulsi, and the Three-Legged-One could 
 surely manage the maps for so long. If not, well, 
 it was no great matter, since the fields could not 
 possibly run away. So they went off contentedly 
 in procession, Tulsi Ram clinging ostentatiously to 
 the plane-table, which, by reason of its straighter, 
 longer legs, looked for all the world as if it were 
 taking charge of him, and not he of it. 
 1 The Monkey-god. 
 
A BIT OF LAND 255 
 
 It looked still more in possession as it stood 
 decently draped beside the old man as he worked 
 away at the long columns of figures ; for the map- 
 ping season was over, and nothing remained but 
 addition, subtraction, and division, at all of which 
 old Tulsi was an adept. Had he not indeed 
 dipped far into "Euclidus" in his salad-days 
 when he was the favourite disciple of the re- 
 nowned anchorite at Janakpur? 
 
 Gurditta by this time was away at college, and 
 Kishnu, his widowed mother, as she cooked the 
 millet-cakes in the other corner of the courtyard, 
 wept salt tears at the thought of the unknown 
 dangers he was running. Deadly dangers they 
 were, for had not his father been quite healthy 
 until the Government had insisted on his using 
 the Three-Legged-One? And then, had he not 
 gone down and wrestled with it on the low, misty 
 levels of newly reclaimed land by the river-side, 
 and caught the chills of which he had eventually 
 died? Thus when the rainy season came on, and 
 the plane-table, still decently draped, was set aside 
 for shelter in the darkest corner of the hovel, it 
 looked to poor Kishnu like some malevolent demon 
 ready to spring out upon the little household. And 
 so, naturally enough, when Tulsi went to fetch it 
 out for his first field-measurements, he found it 
 garlanded with yellow marigolds, and set out with 
 
256 A BIT OF LAND 
 
 little platters of curds and butter. Kishnu had 
 been propitiating it with offerings. 
 
 The old man looked at her in mild, superior re- 
 proof. " Thou art an ignorant woman, daughter," 
 he said. " This is no devil, but a device of the 
 learned, of much use to such as I who make maps. 
 Thou shouldest have known that the true Gods are 
 angered by false worship ; therefore I counsel thee 
 to remember great Mahadeo this day, lest evil be- 
 fall." 
 
 So he passed out into the sunlight, bearing the 
 plane-table in debonair fashion, leaving the abaslied 
 Kishnu to gather up the marigolds. Baha-ji, she 
 told herself, was brave, but he had not to l)ustle 
 about the house all day with that shrouded tiling 
 glowering from the corner. Hovv^ever, since for 
 Gurdit's sake it was wise to propitiate everything, 
 she took the platters of curds and butter over to 
 Mahadeo's red stone under the big banyan tree. 
 
 Nevertheless, she felt triumpliant tliat evening 
 when old Tulsi came in from the fields dispirited 
 and professing no appetite for his supper. He had 
 in fact discovered that studying text-books and 
 making practical field-measurements Avere very dif- 
 ferent things, especially in a treeless, formless plain, 
 where the only land-marks are the mud boundary- 
 cones you are set to verify, and which therefore 
 cannot, or ought not to be considered fixed points. 
 
A BIT OF LAND 257 
 
 However, he managed at last to draw two imagi- 
 nary lines through the village, thanks to Puru- 
 meshwar and the big green dome of Mahadeo's 
 banyan tree swelling up into the blue horizon. 
 Indeed he felt so grateful to the latter for show- 
 ing clear, even over a plane-table, that he sneaked 
 out when Kishnu's back was turned with a platter 
 of curds of his ow^n for the great, many-armed 
 trunk ; but this, of course, was very different from 
 making oblation to a trivial plane-table. And that 
 evening he spent all the lingering light in deco- 
 rating the borders of the map (which was yet to 
 come) with the finest flourishes, just, as he told 
 Kishnu, to show the Protector-of-the-Poor that he 
 had not committed the jt?i<^z^«rz-ship to unworthy 
 hands. 
 
 Yet two days afterwards he replied captiously 
 to his daughter's anxious inquiries as to what was 
 the matter. There was naught wrong ; only 
 one of the three legs had no sense of duty, and 
 he must get the carpenter to put a nail to it. 
 Despite the nail, however, the anxiety grew on 
 his face, and when nobody was looking he took to 
 tramping over the ploughs surreptitiously dragging 
 the primeval chain-measure after him ; in which 
 occupation he looked like a monkey who had es- 
 caped from its owner the plane-table, which, with 
 the old man's mantle draped over it, and his pug- 
 
258 A BIT OF LAND 
 
 ree placed on the top, had a veiy dignified appear- 
 ance in the corner of the fiehl ; for it was hot 
 work dragging the heavy chain about, and okl 
 Tulsi, who was too proud to ask for aid and so 
 disclose the fact that he had had to fall back 
 on ancient methods, discarded all the clothing he 
 could. 
 
 And after all he had to give in. '' Gurdit's 
 father did it field by field," said the head-men 
 carelessly when he sought their advice. " Fret not 
 thyself, Baha-ji. 'Twill come right ; thou art a 
 better scholar than ever he was." 
 
 " Field by field ! " echoed Tulsi aghast. " But 
 the book prohibits it, seeing that there is not veri- 
 fication, since none can know if the boundaries be 
 right." 
 
 A broad chuckle ran round the circle of elders. 
 " Is that all, Sri Tulsi ? " cried the head-man. 
 '' That is soon settled. A Jat knows his own land, 
 I warrant ; and each man of us will verify his 
 fields, seeing that never before have we had sucli 
 a settling-day as thine. Not an error, not an injus- 
 tice ! Purumeshivar send Gurditta to be as good a 
 putwari when he comes I " 
 
 "Nay, 'tis Gurdit Avho is putwari already," re- 
 plied Tulsi uneasily ; " and therefore must there 
 be no mistake. So I will do field by field ; per- 
 adventure when they are drawn on paper it may 
 
A BIT OF LAND 259 
 
 seem more like the book where things do not 
 move. Then I can begin again by rule." 
 
 There was quite a pleasurable excitement over 
 the attested measurement of the fields, and old 
 Munnia, the parcher of corn, said it was almost 
 as good as a fair to her trade. Each man clanked 
 the chain round his own boundary, while his neigh- 
 bours stood in the now sprouting wheat to see fair 
 play and talk over the past history of the claim ; 
 Tulsi Ram meanwhile squatting on the ground and 
 drawing away as for dear life. Even the children 
 went forth to see the show, munching popped corn 
 and sidling gingerly past the Three-Legged-One 
 which, to say sooth, looked gigantic with half the 
 spare clothes of the community piled on to it ; in- 
 deed the village women, peeping from afar, de- 
 clared Kishnu to have been quite right, and urged 
 a further secret oblation as prudent, if not abso- 
 lutely necessary. 
 
 So she took to hanging the marigolds again, 
 taking care to remove them ere the old man rose 
 in the morning. And the result was eminently sat- 
 isfactory, for as he put one field-plan after another 
 away in the portfolio Tulsi Ram's face cleared. 
 They were so beautifully green, far greener than 
 those in the book ; so surely there could be no 
 mistake. But alas I when he came to try and fit 
 them together as they should be on the map, they 
 
260 A BIT OF LAND 
 
 resolutely refused to do anything of the kind. It 
 was a judgment, he felt, for having disobeyed the 
 text-book ; and so the next morning he rose at 
 the peep of day determined to have it out legiti- 
 mately with the Three-Legged -One. And lo ! it 
 was garlanded with marigolds and set out once 
 more with platters of curds and butter. 
 
 " Thou hast undone me, ignorant woman I " he 
 said with a mixture of anger and relief. "• Now 
 is it clear ! Tlie true Gods in despite of thy false 
 worship have sent a devil into this thing to de- 
 stroy me." So despite Kishnu's terror and tears 
 he threw the offerings into the fire, and dragged 
 the plane-table out into the fields with ignominy. 
 
 But even this protestation failed, and poor old 
 Tulsi, one vast wrinkle of perplexity, was obliged 
 once more to refer to the circle of head-men. 
 
 '' Gurdit's father managed, and thou hast twice 
 his mettle," they replied, vaguely interested. "Sure 
 the devil must indeed be in it, seeing that tlie 
 land cannot run away of itself." 
 
 " It hath not run away," said Tulsi dejectedly. 
 "There is not too little, but too much of it." 
 
 Too much land I The idea was at first bewil- 
 dering to these Jat peasants, and then sent them 
 into open laughter. Here was a mistake indeed ! 
 and yet the lust of land, so typical of their race, 
 showed in their eyes as they crowded round the 
 
A BIT OF LAND 261 
 
 map which Tulsi Kam spread on the ground. It 
 was a model of neatness : the fields were greener 
 than the greenest wheat ; but right in the middle 
 of them was a white patch of no-man's-land. 
 
 " Trra ! " rolled the broadest of the party after 
 an instant's stupefaction. " That settles it. 'Tis 
 a mistake, for look you, 'tis next my fields, and 
 if 'twere there my plough would have been in 
 it long ago." A sigh of conviction and relief 
 passed through the circle, for the mere suggestion 
 had been disturbing. Nevertheless, since Gurdit's 
 father's map had never indulged in white spots, 
 Tulsi's must be purged from them also. "Look 
 you," said one of the youngest ; " 'tis as when the 
 children make a puzzle of torn leaves. He has 
 fitted them askew, so let each cut his own field 
 out of the paper and set it aright." 
 
 Then ensued an hour of sheer puzzledom, since 
 if the white spot were driven from one place it 
 re-appeared differently shaped in another. The 
 devil was in it, they said at last, somewhat alarmed; 
 since he who brought land might be reasonably 
 suspected of the power of taking it away. They 
 would offer a scapegoat ; and meanwhile old Tulsi 
 need not talk of calling in the aid of the new 
 putwari in the next village, for he was one of the 
 new-fangled sort, an empty drum making a big 
 noise, and, as likely as not, would make them pay 
 
262 A BIT OF LAND 
 
 double, if there really was extra land, because it 
 had not come into the schedule before. No ! they 
 would ask the schoolmaster first, since he had ex- 
 perience in finding excuse for mistakes. Nor Avas 
 their trust unfounded, for the master not only had 
 an excuse in something he called "a reasonable 
 margin of error," but also a remedy which, he 
 declared, the late putwari had always adopted ; 
 briefly a snip here, a bulge there, and a general 
 fudging with the old settlement-maps. 
 
 The elders clapped old Tulsi on the back with 
 fresh laughter bidding him not try to be cleverer 
 than others, and so sent him back to his drawing- 
 board. But long after the dusk had fallen that 
 evening, the old man sat staring stupidly at the 
 great sheet of blank paper on which he had not 
 drawn a line. It was no business of his what 
 Gurdit's father had done, seeing that he too was 
 of the old school inwardly, if not outwardly ; but 
 Gurdit himself, when he returned, would allow of 
 no such dishonesties, and he, Tulsi, was in the 
 boy's place. There Avas time yet, a month at least 
 before inspection, in which to have it out Avith the 
 plane-table. So when the wild geese from the mud- 
 banks came witli the first streak of dawn to feed 
 on the wheat, they found old Tulsi and his attend- 
 ant demon there already, at work on the dewy 
 fields ; and Avhen sunset Avarned the grey crane 
 
A BIT OF LA^^D 263 
 
 that it was time to wing their flight riverwards, 
 they left Tulsi and the Three-Legged-One still 
 struggling with the margin of error. 
 
 Then he would sit up of nights plotting and 
 planning till a dim, dazed look came into his bright 
 old eyes, and he had to borrow a pair of horn spec- 
 tacles from the widow of a dead friend. He was 
 getting old, he told Kishnu (who was in despair), 
 as men must get old, no matter how many mari- 
 golds ignorant women wasted on false gods ; for 
 she had taken boldly, and unchecked, to the obla- 
 tions again. 
 
 But in the end inspection -day found that white 
 bit of land white as ever, nay, whiter against the 
 dark finger which pointed at it accusingly ; since, 
 as ill-luck would have it, what only the natives 
 themselves may call a Black Judge was the in- 
 specting officer. A most admirable young Bachelor 
 of Arts from the Calcutta University, full to the 
 brim of solid virtue, and utterly devoid of any 
 sneaking sentimental sympathy with the quips and 
 cranks of poor humanity; those lichens of life which 
 make its rough rocks and Avater-worn boulders so 
 beautiful to the seeing eye. " This must not occur," 
 he said, speaking, after the manner of the alien, in 
 English to his clerk in order to enhance his dignity. 
 " It is gross negligence of common orders. Write 
 as warning that if better map be not forthcoming, 
 
264 A BIT OF LAND 
 
 locum tenens loses appointment with adverse influ- 
 ence on hereditary claims." 
 
 Adverse influence on hereditary claims ! The 
 words, translated brutally, as only clerks can trans- 
 late, sent poor old Tulsi into an agony of remorse 
 and resolve. 
 
 A month afterwards Kishnu spoke to the head- 
 men. " The Three-Legged-One hath driven the 
 putwari crazy," she said. " Remove it from him 
 or he will die. Justice I Justice!" 
 
 So it was removed and hidden away with obloquy 
 in an outhouse ; whereupon he sat and cried that 
 he had ruined Gurdit — Gurdit the light of his 
 eyes! 
 
 "Heed not the Bengali," they said at last in 
 sheer despair. '' He is a fool. Thou shalt come 
 with us to the big Sahib. He will understand, 
 seeing that he is more our race than the other." 
 
 That is how it came to pass that Tulsi Ram sat 
 on the stucco steps of an Englishman's house, point- 
 ing with a trembling but truthful finger at a white 
 spot among the green, while a circle of bearded 
 Jats informed the Presence that Sri Hunuman him- 
 self was not wiser nor better than their jmtwari. 
 
 " And how do i/oii account for it ? I mean what 
 do you think it is ? " asked the foreign voice curi- 
 ously. 
 
 The wrinkles on Tulsi's forehead grew deeper, 
 
A BIT OF LAND 265 
 
 his bright yet dim eyes looked wistfully at the 
 master of his fate. " 'Tis an over-large margin of 
 error, Huzoo7\ owing to lack of control over the 
 plane-table. That is what the book says : that is 
 what Gurdit will say." 
 
 " But what do you say ? How do you think that 
 bit of land came into your village ? " 
 
 Tulsi hesitated, gained confidence somehow from 
 the blue eyes : " Unless Purumeshuar sent a bit of 
 another world ? " he suggested meekly. 
 
 The Englishman stood for a moment looking 
 down on the wizened monkey-like face, the truth- 
 ful finger, the accusing white spot. '' I think he 
 has," he said at last. " Go home, Tulsi, and colour 
 it blue. I'll pass it as a bit of Paradise." 
 
 So that year there was a blue patch, like a tank 
 where no tank should be, upon the village map, 
 and the old putivai^i's conscience found peace in 
 the correct total of the columns of figures which 
 he added together; while the Three-Legged-One, 
 released from durance vile at his special request, 
 stood in the corner garlanded with the marigolds 
 of thanksgiving. Perhaps that was the reason why, 
 next mapping season, the patch of Paradise had 
 shrunk to half its original size ; or perhaps it was 
 that he really had more control over the plane- 
 table. At any rate he treated it more as a friend 
 by spreading its legs very wide apart, covering it 
 
266 A BIT OF LAND 
 
 with his white cotton shawl, and so using it as a 
 tent, when the sun was over hot. 
 
 And yet when, on Gurdit's return from college 
 with a first-class surveyor's certificate. Paradise 
 became absorbed in a legitimate margin of error, 
 there was a certain Avistful regret in old Tulsi's 
 pride, and he said that, being an ignorant old man, 
 it was time he returned to find Paradise in another 
 way. 
 
 "But thou shalt not leave us for the wilderness 
 as before," swore the Jats in council. " Lo ! Gurdit 
 is young and hasty, and thou wilt be needed to 
 settle the disputes ; so we will give thee a saintly 
 sitting of thy very own in our village." 
 
 But Tulsi objected. The fields were the fields, 
 he said, and the houses were the houses ; it only 
 led to difficulties to put odd bits of land into a 
 map, and he would be quite satisfied to sit any- 
 where. In the end, however, he had t*o give in, 
 for when he died, after many years spent in settling 
 disputes, some one suggested that he really had 
 been Sri Hunuman himself ; at any rate, he was 
 a saint. So the white spot marking a shrine re- 
 appeared in the map, to show whence the old man 
 had passed to the Better Land. 
 
THE SORROWFUL HOUR 
 
 It was one of those blue days which come to 
 the plains of Upper India when the rains of early 
 September have ceased, leaving the heat-weary, 
 dust-soiled world regenerate by baptism. 
 
 A light breeze sent westering ripples along the 
 pools of water filling each shallow depression, and 
 stirred the fine fretwork of an acacia set thick with 
 little odorous puffs, sweet as a violet. Despite the 
 ruddy glow of the sinking sun, the shadows, far 
 and near, still kept their marvellous blue — a clear 
 porcelain blue, showing the purity of the rain- 
 washed air. A painter need have used but three 
 colours in reproducing the scene — red and blue 
 and yellow in the sky ; russet and blue and gold 
 in the tall battalions of maize and millet half- 
 conquered by the sickle, which stood in shadowed 
 squares or lay in sunlit reaches, right away to the 
 level horizon. 
 
 Russet and blue and gold, also, in the dress of 
 a woman who was crouching against the palisade 
 of plaited tiger-grass, which formed two sides of 
 
 267 
 
268 THE SORROWFUL HOUR 
 
 the well-homestead. Seen upon this dull gold 
 diaj^er, her madder-red veil and blue petticoat, with 
 their corn-coloured embroideries, seemed to blend 
 and be lost in the harvest scene beyond, even the 
 pools of water finding counterpart in the bits of 
 looking-glass gleaming here and there among her 
 ample drapery. She was a woman who in other 
 countries would have been accounted in the prime 
 of life ; in India, past it. Yet, as she crouched — 
 her whole body tense in the effort of listening 
 — every line of her strong face and form showed 
 that she was not past the prime of passion. 
 
 '' Ari ! Heart's delight ! See, O father ! Yon 
 is his fifth step, and still he totters not. What ! 
 wouldst crawl again? Oh ! fie upon such laziness." 
 The high, girlish voice from Avithin the palisade 
 paused in a gurgle of girlish laughter. " Say, O 
 father ! looks he not, thus poised hands and feet, 
 for all the world like the monkey people in Gopal's 
 shop when they would be at the sweets ? Ai ! my 
 brother! what hast found in the dust? Cry not, 
 heart's life. Mother will give it back to Chujju 
 again. So, that is good ! Holy Ganeshji ! Naught 
 but a grain of corn ! Art so hungry as all that, 
 my little pecking pigeon, my little bird from 
 heaven?" 
 
 "Little glutton, thou meanest," chuckled a base 
 voice. "Still, of a truth, O Maya, the boy grows." 
 
THE SORROWFUL HOUR 269 
 
 "Grows? I tell thee he hath grown. See you 
 not this two-year-old hath turned farmer already ? 
 He comes to bargain with thee, having his corn 
 in his hand. Give him a good price, to handsel 
 his luck, O Gurditta Lnmberdar." ^ 
 
 " I will pay thee for him, O wife ! Sure, hast 
 thou not given me the boy, and shall I not pay 
 my debt? Nay, I am not foolish, as thou sayest. 
 What ! Wouldst have me kiss thee also, little 
 rogue? So! Yet do I love mother best — best 
 of all." 
 
 The woman behind the palisade stood up sud- 
 denly. Tall as she was, the feathery tops of the 
 tiofer-ofrass rose taller ; so she could stand, even as 
 she had crouched, unseen. Unseeing also. Other 
 women might have lent eyes to aid their ears, but 
 Saraswati was no spy — no eavesdropper by intent, 
 either. The lacquered spinning-wheel, the wheat- 
 straw basket piled with downy cotton cards which 
 lay on the ground beside her, testified to what her 
 occupation had been, till something — Heaven knows 
 what, for she heard such light-hearted babble every 
 day — in tliose careless voices roused her pent-up 
 jealousy beyond the dead level of patience. She 
 was not jealous of the child. Ah, no ! not of the 
 child. Was it not for the sake of such a one that 
 three years before she had given Maya, his mother, 
 1 Head-man of village. 
 
270 THE SOKKOWFUL HOUR 
 
 a dignified welcome to the childless home? But 
 Mil}' a? Ah I well was she called Maya — the wximan 
 prolific of deceit and illusion, of whom the pundits 
 spoke ; Avoman, not content with being the child- 
 bringer, but seeking Saraswati's large, capa- 
 ble hands closed in upon themselves tightly. She 
 did not need to peer through the plaited chinks 
 to know the scene within. She saw it burnt in 
 upon her slow, constant brain. The tall bearded 
 man of her own age — her own type — her kins- 
 man — the patient, kindly husband of her youth ; 
 the child — his naked brown limbs dimpled still 
 more by silver circlets on wrists and ankles ; those 
 curving, dimpling limbs, which, somehow, made 
 her heart glad ; and between them, degrading 
 them both, Maya, Avith her petty, pretty face, her 
 petty, pretty ways. 
 
 Suddenly, as it had come, the passion passed — 
 passed into that curious resignation, that impassive 
 acquiescence, which does more to separate East from 
 West than all the seas which lie between England 
 and India. 
 
 " Old Dhunnu said sooth," she muttered, stooping 
 to gather up her wheel and bobbins methodically. 
 " 'Tis the child which makes him love her, and I 
 have been a fool to doubt it. I \vill delay no 
 longer." 
 
 Behind the low mud houses, angled so as to form 
 
THE SORROWFUL HOUR 271 
 
 two sides of the sqviare, four or five jujube trees 
 clustered thickly, and beneath them the dark green 
 whips of the jasmine bushes curved to the ground 
 like a fountain set with blossoms. Hence, and from 
 the straggling rose hard by, the women in the early 
 dawn gathered flowers for the chaplets used in 
 the worship of the gods. There were so many 
 occasions requiring such offerings ; sorrowful hours 
 and joyful hours, whether they were of birth, or 
 marriage, or death. Who could say, till the end 
 came, whether they were one or the other ? Only 
 this was certain, flowers were needed for them all. 
 Towards this thicket Saraswati, still with the 
 same impassive face, made her way, pausing an in- 
 stant before the long, low, mud manger where her 
 favourite milch cow stood tethered, to stroke its 
 soft muzzle and give it a few tall stalks of millet 
 from a sheaf resting against the well-wheel. And 
 once more the scene was red and blue and gold, 
 as the broad yellow leaves and blood-streaked stems 
 blent with her dress. There was not a change in 
 her face, as, parting the branches, she disappeared 
 into the thicket, scattering the loose blossoms as 
 she went ; not a change, Avhen after a minute or 
 two, she reappeared, carrying a little basket with 
 a domed cover, securely fastened by many strands 
 of raw cotton thread, such as she had been spin- 
 ning — a basket of wheaten straw festooned with 
 
272 THE SORROWFUL HOUR 
 
 cowries, and tufted with parti-coloured tassels, such 
 as the Jatni women make for the safe keeping of 
 feminine trifles — an innocent-looking basket, sug- 
 gestive of beads and trinkets. She paused a mo- 
 ment, holding it to her ear, and then for the first 
 time a faint smile flickered about her mouth as 
 she caught a curious rasping noise, half-purr, half- 
 rustle. 
 
 " Death hath a long life," she murmured, as she 
 hid the basket in the voluminous folds of her veil 
 and walked over to the homestead. As she entered 
 by a wide gap in the plaited palisade, the scene 
 within was even as slie had imagined it ; but the 
 barb had struck home before, and the actual sight 
 did not enhance her resentment. 
 
 " It grows late, O Maya," she said coldly. " Leave 
 playing with the child and see to the fire for the 
 cooking of our lord's food. Thou hast scarce left 
 an ember aglow beneath the lentils while I Avas 
 yonder spinning." 
 
 The reproof was no more than what might come 
 with dignity from an elder wife ; but Gurditta, 
 lounging his long length in well-earned rest on a 
 string bed, rose, murmuring something of seeing to 
 the plough oxen ere supper time. The big man 
 was dimly dissatisfied with affairs ; he felt a vague 
 desire to behave better towards the Avoman who 
 had been his faithful companion for so many years. 
 
THE SOKROWFUL HOUR 273 
 
 But for her, he knew well, things would go but 
 ill in the little homestead by the well. Yet Maya 
 was so pretty. What man, still undulled by age, 
 would not do as he did ? For all that, the little 
 capricious thing might be more friendly with Sara- 
 swati ; there was no need for her to snatch Chujju 
 in her arms whenever the latter looked at the child. 
 But then women — and Maya was a thorough woman 
 — were always so fearful of the evil eye. Fancy 
 her calling that straight-limbed, utterly desirable 
 son, Chujju,! as if any one would cast such a gift 
 away in the sweeper's pan ! As if the gods them- 
 selves, far off as they were, could be deceived by 
 such a palpable fraud, or even by that ridiculous 
 smudge of charcoal on the boy's face which only 
 enhanced instead of detracting from its beauty ! 
 Gurditta laughed a deep, broad laugh as he strewed 
 the long manger with corn cobs and green stuff 
 cut from the fodder field by the well. 
 
 Meanwhile, within the house yard, Maya was 
 sullenly blowing away at the embers held in the 
 semicircular mud fireplaces ranged along one of 
 the Avails. A grass thatch, supported by two forked 
 sticks, protected this, the kitchen of the house, 
 from possible rain and certain sun ; while on the 
 other wall a similar screen did like duty to a triple 
 
 1 From chujj, a sweeper's basket. One of the many opprobrious 
 names given to avert tlie envious, and tlierefore evil, eye. 
 
274 THE SORROAYFUL HOUR 
 
 row of niches or pigeon-holes, wherein the house- 
 hold stores in immediate use were kept out of 
 harm's way. For the rest, was a clean-swept ex- 
 panse of beaten earth set round, after the fashion 
 in a farmer's house, with implements and hive-like 
 stores of grain. Between the one thatch and the 
 other Saraswati moved restlessly, bringing pickles 
 and spices as they were wanted. And still the 
 basket lay tucked away in the folds of her veil. 
 
 " The raw sugar is nigh done," she said, stooping 
 with her back towards Maya to reach the lowest 
 row of niches. 
 
 " We must use the candy to-night, till I can open 
 the big store. Luckily I bought some when we 
 took the Diwali ^ sweets from Gopal." Then, ere 
 she replaced the cloth in which the sweetmeats 
 were tied, she held out a sugar horse to the child, 
 who was playing by his mother. " Here, Chujju, 
 wilt have one ? " 
 
 Maya was on her feet at once, indignant, vehe- 
 ment. 
 
 " Thou shouldst not offer him such things. He 
 shall not take tliem from thee. I will not have it. 
 Nay, nay, my bird — my heart's delight ! Mother 
 will give thee sweets enough. Kick not so, life of 
 my life ! Ganesh ! how he cries. He will burst : 
 and 'tis thy fault. Hush, hush ! See, here is 
 
 1 For the most part, sugar animals, such as are sold at English fairs. 
 
THE SORROWFUL HOUR 275 
 
 mother's milk. Ai ! wicked one ! would bite ? 
 Ye gods, but 'tis a veritable Toorh for temper." 
 
 Hushing the child in her arms, she walked up 
 and down, followed by Saraswati's calm, big black 
 eyes. 
 
 " Thou art a fool, Maya," she said slowly, putting 
 down the sugar horse. " Gopal's sweets would not 
 have hurt the child so much as thy spitefulness." 
 Then she turned to her work ag-ain amone the 
 niches. When she rose the basket was in her 
 hand, the threads were broken, and the cover tilted 
 as if something slender and supple had been allowed 
 to slip out. Perhaps it had, for behind the sugar 
 horse, standing in the lowermost niche, two specks 
 of fire gleamed from the shadow. It was growing 
 dark now, but the harvest moon riding high in 
 the heavens and the now flaming fire aided the 
 dying daylight, and a curious radiance, backed by 
 velvety shadows, lay on everything. 
 
 " I must sweep out the niches thoroughly to- 
 morrow," she said indifferently. " Methought just 
 now I heard the rustle as of a jelaU> They love 
 to hide in such places, and therefore I bid thee but 
 yesterday see to their cleansing. But, sure, what 
 work is done in this house mine must be the hand 
 
 1 EcMs carinata, the Indian viper. It lies coiled in a true-lover's 
 knot, rustling its scales one against the other. It is the most vicious 
 and irritable of all Indian snakes. 
 
276 THE SORROWFUL HOUR 
 
 to do it. See to your lentils, sister ; methinks 
 they burn at the bottom." 
 
 Maya, with a petulant shrug of her shoulders, 
 set doAvn the child. 
 
 ''Such work spoils my hands, and — and — folk 
 like them pretty." 
 
 Even she, town born and town bred, did not 
 dare before this grave-eyed peasant Avoman to 
 name her husband's name in such a connection,^ but 
 Saraswati understood the allusion, and the simple, 
 straightforward naturalism drawn from ages of 
 rural life which was her heritage, rose up in arms 
 against such depravity. But even as she lashed 
 herself to revenge by the thought, ever} thing that 
 was stable seemed to shift, all that moved to stand 
 still. Her heart ceased beating, the walls span 
 round, the moon quivered, the flames grew rigid. 
 Ah, no ! one thing that moved would not pause. 
 Chujju had caught sight of the sugar horse, and 
 was creeping towards it, now on his little fat hands, 
 now tottering on his little fat feet, his glistening 
 eyes fixed on the niche which held those gleaming 
 specks of fire. ^ 
 
 No ! nothing was too bad for Maya ; and Dhunnu, 
 the wise woman, had been right when she said 
 that the charm lay in the child. It must be so — 
 
 1 A husbaini's name should never be mentioned by a wife, 
 especially in matters referring to herself. 
 
THE SORROWFUL HOUR 277 
 
 and death was naught. There ! he was close now, 
 one little hand stretched out, the dimples showing 
 _the Ah! 
 
 A cry, fierce, almost imperative, and Saraswati 
 had him in her arms, while something slim and 
 grey fell from the niche in its spring, and wriggled 
 behind a pile of brushwood. 
 
 *' I saw its eyes," she gasped, still straining the 
 child to her ample bosom, when Gurditta, brought 
 thither by Maya's screams of " Snake ! snake ! " 
 stood beside her, his breath coming fast, his man- 
 liness stirred to its depths. 
 
 Maya saw the danger swiftly. " Give liim to 
 me," she clamoured. '' O husband, make her give 
 him to me. She would kill him if she could. 
 She put it there — I saw her put it there — I 
 swear it." 
 
 Saraswati turned on her in calm contempt. 
 " Thou liest, O Maya ; since Time began, spirit of 
 deceit and mother of illusion. Thou didst not 
 see me put it there." 
 
 Then, Avith the same dignity, she turned to the 
 man. 
 
 "Master! Take the child. He is safe. This 
 much is true, I saved him." 
 
 That night, when the moon still shone in the 
 cloudless sky, Saraswati, her veil wrapped closely 
 
278 THE SORROWFUL HOUR 
 
 round her, stole softly from the homestead. Past 
 the resting oxen, out among the serried battalions 
 of maize and millet, where the tall sheaves, lying 
 prone on the ground, looked like the bodies of 
 those who had fallen in the day's fight; down on 
 the sun-cracked borders of the tank, whence the 
 water was sinking swiftly, now the rain had ceased ; 
 by the ghostly peepul trees, shorn of their branches 
 which the camels love, and looking weird and 
 human with great arms stretched skywards ; so on 
 to the burning ghat beyond, with its little cones 
 of mud marking the spot of each funeral pyre, 
 and the twinkling lights set here and there by 
 pious survivors. Saraswati drew her veil tighter 
 and sped faster as she passed through the more 
 recent ashes, as yet uncovered, but swept into little 
 heaps ; and there — horrible sight ! — still scattered, 
 with the uncalcined bones gleaming in the moon- 
 light, and a faint line of smoke still circling up- 
 wards, lay the most recent of all. That must be 
 old Anant Ram, the klmttri (merchant) who had 
 died that morning : an evil man, come to his end. 
 She was trembling ere she reached the hut where 
 Dhun Devi, the wise woman, kept watch and 
 ward over the ashes. It was a miserable shanty, 
 where she found the old woman asleep before a 
 large iron pot, supported on a trivet. Beneath it 
 some cowdung cakes smouldered slowly, yet not 
 
THE SOKKOWFUL HOUR 279 
 
 SO slowly but that every now and again a blood- 
 ied bubble showed on the contents of the pot. 
 A flarmg oil-lamp, iilched, doubtless, from those 
 outside, stood in a smoke-blackened niche, and by 
 its light you could see festoons of dank, blood-red 
 drapery clinging to a rope, while, with a drip, drip, 
 drip, something fell upon the floor — something 
 which ran in rills right out to the moonlight, 
 and, sinking into the sand, stained it blood-red; 
 a ghastly setting to the wise woman's crouching 
 figure, even though SarasAvati knew that Mai 
 Dhunnu was engaged in no more nefarious occu- 
 pation than dyeing the webs of her ignorant 
 neio'hbours with madder. 
 
 The old crone stood up hastily, then sank to 
 her low stool again when she had peered into her 
 visitor's face. "Thou wilt not tell," she whis- 
 pered in a hoarse croak, which, coming in realit}^ 
 from a throat affection, vastly enhanced her claims 
 to wisdom in the eyes of the villagers. "Thou 
 art of the old style ; not like these apes of to-day, 
 with their dog-eared books and their dyes which 
 fade before a January sun." The chuckle she gave 
 suited her surroundings well ; so did the claw-like 
 hand she laid suddenly on Saraswati's firm arm. 
 " Well, daughter ! Hast plucked up courage ? 
 Hast learnt to trust the wisdom of old Dhun 
 Devi?" 
 
280 THE SORROWFUL HOUR 
 
 Saraswati shook her head. '' Thou must find 
 other wisdom for me, mother," she said briefly. 
 "Such is not for me." 
 
 " Obstinate ! I tell thee 'tis the glamour of the 
 child." 
 
 "'Tis not the child, though the gods know the 
 poison hath bit deeper somehow since he came. 
 Lo ! I have tried it, and 'tis not my way. Nor 
 would I kill her. That were too trivial, seeing 
 she is not worth life. I want but my share. It 
 is empty here, emptier than ever, somehow, since 
 the boy was born." 
 
 She clasped her strong hands above her heart. 
 The glow of the fire, spreading as the old woman 
 fanned it with the tremulous breath of age, lit up 
 the big black brows knit above the puzzled black 
 eyes. 
 
 Dhun Devi straightened her bent back, and 
 looked at her companion critically. 
 
 " Life is more than the shadow of a passing bird 
 to such as thou, O Saraswati ! 'Tis not wise. For 
 death is naught, and life is naught. The soul of 
 man circles ever, like the potter's wheel, upon its 
 pivot. Have I not seen it ? Have I not known 
 it ? Did I not go through the night of a thousand 
 dangers myself, and bring five stalwart sons into 
 the day ? Wliere are they ? Have they not passed 
 into the dark again? Have not my hands piloted 
 
THE SORROWFUL HOUR 281 
 
 many through the Sorrowful Hour and sent many 
 from it ? Lo I the snake woukl not have harmed 
 the child." 
 
 '' I care not if thou speakest truth or not, O 
 mother, though thou art learned above women in 
 such thoughts, I know," muttered Saraswati sul- 
 lenly, with drooping head. " Only this I know, 
 that w^ay is not mine. There must be others. See I 
 I have brought thee my golden armlet. Dliun^ 
 w^as ever as a sign-post to Dhun Devi. Is 't not so ? " 
 
 The old dame's fingers closed greedily on the 
 bribe, careless of the open sneer which accompanied 
 it. " Ways ? " she echoed. " Of a surety there 
 are ways, but none so simple as death." 
 
 '' Ay," said Saraswati quietly, " I have thought 
 of that. The well is deep, and the little feathery 
 ferns in the crannies look kind. But they would 
 say Saraswati, the Jatni, had been ousted from 
 her own well-land by a stranger, and that is not 
 so. I heed not the girl ; deceit is her portion. 
 'Tis something here." Again she laid her hand 
 on her heart with a puzzled look. " Nor do I 
 want him only. Couldst thou not turn the child's 
 mind to me, so that, seeing his love, Gurditta 
 would hold me dearer also?" 
 
 Dhun Devi shook her head, but her keen, bright 
 old eyes were on the other's face. 
 1 Worldly- wealth. 
 
282 THE SORROWFUL HOUR 
 
 " There is a way," she whispered, after a pause, 
 "but death lurks in it often with such as thou." 
 
 "Whose death?" 
 
 "Thine own. Do not all women know how 
 the Sorrowful Hour " 
 
 Saraswati caught the withered wrist in a fierce 
 clasp. 
 
 " Mai! " she panted ; " Mai Dhunnu ! Dost speak 
 of the Sorrowful Hour to me — to me — after all 
 these years! Is there hope — hope even yet?" 
 
 "If thou art not afraid " 
 
 "Afraid!" 
 
 ****** 
 
 It was sunrise in the homestead, and a new 
 harvest was waiting in battalions for the sickle. 
 The jasmine fountain showered its green stems 
 to the ground, but it was bare of blossoms. They 
 hung in chaplets from the thatch screen beneath' 
 which, on that stifling August night, a woman 
 had been passing through her Sorrowful Hour. 
 In the dim dawn the little oil-lamps set about 
 the bed flickered uncertainly in the breeze Avhich 
 heralds the day, and glinted now and again on 
 the lucky knife suspended by the twist of lucky 
 threads above the pillow. In a brazier hard by 
 some pungent spices scattered upon charcoal sent 
 up a clear blue line, like the last faint smoke 
 from a funeral pyre. All that wisdom could do 
 
THE SORROWFUL HOUR 283 
 
 Dliun Devi hud done, but a dead girl-baby lay be- 
 tween Saraswati and the harvest visible through 
 the gap in the plaited palisade. The midwife 
 shook her head as she peered into the unconscious 
 face on the pillow. 
 
 "Only a girl, after all the fuss," came Maya's 
 high, clear voice, as she sat cuddling Chujju in 
 her soft round arms— Chujju, whom the gods had 
 spared. "To die for a girl — for a dead girl, too — 
 what foolishness I But 'twas her own fault. 'Tis 
 bad enough for us young ones, and dear payment, 
 after all, for the fun; and she had escaped all 
 these years " 
 
 Dhun Devi's claw-like fingers stopped the liquid 
 flow of words. 
 
 " Go, infamous ! " she Avhispered fiercely. " Such 
 as thou are not mothers. Thou art Maya, the 
 desire of the flesh. Go, lest I curse the child for 
 thy sake." 
 
 With a little shriek of dismay, half-real, half- 
 pretended, the girl gathered the sleeping child in 
 her arms and disappeared into the huts. 
 
 "The wheel slackens on its pivot," muttered 
 the old woman, stooping again over the still form 
 on the bed. "I must get her to Mother Earth, 
 as a seed to the soil, ere it stops." 
 
 She stood at the gap and called. The fine fret- 
 work of the acacia branches showed against the 
 
284 THE SORROWFUL HOUR 
 
 growing blue of the sky. The little golden puffs 
 sent their violet perfume into the air. A bird 
 sat among them, chirruping to its mate. 
 
 " Come," she said, and the tall bearded man 
 followed her meekly. Together — he at the head, 
 she at the feet — they laid Saraswati on the 
 ground with the dead child, half-hidden in her 
 veil, still between her and the great stretch of 
 harvest beyond. 
 
 Suddenly, roused by the movement, she stirred 
 slightly, and the big black eyes opened. Dhun 
 Devi gripped the man's hand as if to detain him. 
 
 " The child — is it well with the child ? " came 
 in a faint voice. 
 
 Dhun Devi's clasp gripped firmer ; a look recall- 
 ing long past years came to her face. 
 
 " Yea^ mother^ it is well; thy son sleeps in thine 
 arms.'" 
 
 Then, craning up from her crooked old age to 
 reach his ear, she whispered swiftly : 
 
 " Say 'tis so if thou art a man, and bid her 
 God-speed on her journey." 
 
 So, with her husband's hand in hers, a child in 
 her arms, and a smile on her face, came the end 
 of Saraswati's Sorrowful Hour. 
 
A DANGER SIGNAL 
 
 They were an odd couple. The very trains as 
 they sped past level crossing Number 57 gave a 
 low whistle as if the oddities struck them afresh 
 each time, and Craddock always went to the side 
 of the cab, whence he could see those two motion- 
 less figures on either side of the regulation barrier 
 which stood so causelessly in the middle of the 
 sandy waste. 
 
 There must have been a road somewhere, of 
 course, else there would have been no level cross- 
 ing, but it was not visible to the passing e3^e. Per- 
 haps the drifting sand had covered it up ; perhaps 
 no traffic ever did come that way, and there really 
 was no need for old Dhunnu and his granddaughter 
 to stand like ill-matched heraldic supporters display- 
 ing a safety signal. But they did. 
 
 They had done so ever since Dhunni — for the 
 name had descended to her in the feminine gender 
 — Avas steady enough on her feet to stand alone, 
 and before that, even, she had given "line clear" 
 from her grandfather's arms. For it was always 
 
 285 
 
286 A DANGER SIGNAL 
 
 "line clear." No train ever stopped at level cross- 
 ing Number 57 of the desert section. Why should 
 they? There was nothing to be seen far or near 
 save sand, and the little square concrete-roofed, 
 red-hot furnace of a place, suggestive of a crema- 
 torium, which happened on that particular railway 
 to be the approved pattern for a gatekeeper's 
 shelter. 
 
 It was very hot in summer, very cold in winter, 
 and that was perhaps the reason why old Dhunnu 
 suffered so much from malarial fever in the au- 
 tumn months ; those months which might other- 
 wise have been so pleasant in the returning cool 
 of their nights, and their promise of another har- 
 vest. The old man used to resent this fever in 
 a dull sort of way, because it was so unnecessary 
 in that rainless tract. To quiver and shake in a 
 quartian ague when the battalions of maize are 
 pluming themselves on their own growth, and the 
 millet-seeds, tired of cuddling close to each other, 
 are beginning to start on lengthening stemlets to 
 see the world, was legitimate ; but it was quite 
 another thing to find a difficulty in keeping a sig- 
 nal steady when there was not a drop of moisture 
 for miles and miles, save in the little round well 
 which had been dug for the gatekeeper's use. 
 
 Dhunnu, however, had served the Sirkar for 
 long years in the malarial tracts under the hills 
 
A DANGER SIGNAL 287 
 
 before he came as a pensioner to level crossing 57, 
 and when once the marsh-monarch lays firm hold 
 of a man he claims him as a subject for all time. 
 It was this difficulty, no doubt, in keeping a sig- 
 nal steady Avhich, joined to the intense pleasure 
 it gave to the child, had first led to little Dhunni 
 holding the green flag, while Dhunnu on the other 
 side of the gate kept the furled red one in his 
 shaking hand ready for emergencies. Then the 
 train would sweep past like a great caterpillar 
 with red and green eyes, and red and green lights 
 in its tail, and Craddock would look out of the 
 cab, and say to himself that time must be passing, 
 since the child was shooting up into a girl. And 
 still it was always the green flag ; always " line 
 clear." 
 
 It became monotonous even to Dhunni who had 
 been brought up to it, and while her chubby hand 
 clutched the baton firmly she would look resent- 
 fully across at the furled red flag in her grand- 
 father's shaking hand. 
 
 '' Lo I ndnna'' she said spitefully, " some day it 
 will shake so that the cloth will shake itself out, 
 and then " 
 
 He interrupted her with dignity, but in the tone 
 in which a tit-mouse might reproach a tiger-cat ; 
 for Dhunni, as he knew to his cost, had a temper. 
 
 ''By God's blessing, oh Dhun devi, that will 
 
288 A DANGER SIGNAL 
 
 never be, since east and west is there no cause 
 sufficient to check progress ; and as that is 
 by order the green flag, so the green flag it 
 will be." 
 
 Dhunni made no reply in words. She simply 
 flung the safety signal in the dust and danced on 
 it with a certain pompous vigour which made the 
 whity-brown rag of a petticoat she wore as sole 
 garment, cease even its pretensions to be called a 
 covering. For they were very poor, these two ; 
 that was evident from the lack of colour in their 
 clothing, which made them mere dusty brown 
 shadows on the background of brownish dust. 
 
 ''It shall be the red one some day, ndnna ! 
 Yea ! some day it shall be the red flag, and then 
 the train will stop, and then — and then," she 
 gave one vindictive stamp to clinch the matter 
 and walked off with her head in the air. The old 
 man watched her retreating flgure with shocked 
 admiration, then picked up the dishonoured flag, 
 dusted it, and rolled it up laboriously. 
 
 " Lo ! " he muttered as a half-gratified smile 
 claimed his haggard face, " she is of the very worst 
 sort of woman that the Lord makes. A virtuous 
 man need be prepared for such as she, so 'tis well 
 she is betrothed to a decent house. Meanwdiile in 
 the wilderness she can come to no liarm." 
 
 So far as the displaying of danger signals went. 
 
A DANGER SIGNAL 289 
 
 Dluinni herself was forced to admit the truth of 
 this proposition, for even when the old man lay 
 quivering and quaking, he kept the key of the box 
 in which the red flag was locked, safely stowed 
 away in his waistcloth. Once she tried to steal it, 
 and when discovered in the act, took advantage of 
 his prostration to argue the matter out at length, — 
 her position being that the train itself must be 
 as tired of going on, as she was of watching it. 
 Whereupon he explained to her with feverish viv- 
 idness the terrible consequences which followed on 
 the unrighteous stopping of trains, to all of which 
 she acquiesced with the greatest zest, even sug- 
 gesting additional horrors, until it became a sort 
 of game of brag between them as whose imagina- 
 tion would go the furthest. 
 
 Finally, as she brought him a cup of water 
 from the well, she consoled both herself and him 
 with the reflection tliat some day he must die of 
 the fever, and then of course it would not matter 
 to him if the train stopped or not, while she 
 could satisfy herself as to whether those funny 
 white people who looked out of the windows were 
 real, or only stuffed dolls. 
 
 ''Ari hudzart!'' he whimpered as he lay pros- 
 trate and perspiring. "Have I not told thee 
 dozens of times they are saliih logues? have I not 
 seen them ? have I ■ " 
 
290 A DANGER SIGNAL 
 
 " Trra,"" replied Dliunni derisively, " that may 
 be. I have not, but I mean to some day." 
 
 Then the old man, adding tears of weakness to 
 the general dissolution, begged her, if a train 
 must be stopped, to stop a "goods," or even a 
 "mixed." She argued this point also at length, 
 till the fever fiend leaving him, Dhunnu resumed 
 his authority and threatened to whack her, where- 
 upon she ran away, like a wild thing, into the 
 desert. 
 
 It was a certain method of escape from the 
 slow retribution of the old man, but as often as 
 not she would return ere his anger had evaporated 
 sooner than miss any one of the four caterpillars 
 with the red and green eyes and the green and 
 red lights in their tails. The}^ had a fascination 
 for her which she could not resist, so she would 
 take her whacking and then stand, bruised and 
 sore, but brimful of curiosity, to give " line clear," 
 as it were, to a Avhole world of Avhich she knew 
 nothing. Even that was better t]ian having noth- 
 ing to do with it at all. 
 
 And then, as her grandfather grew older and 
 feebler, and required a longer time to fetch the 
 week's supply from the distant hamlet far over 
 the edge of the sandy horizon, there came at last 
 a day when she stood all alone in the very centre 
 of the closed gate liolding out tlic green flag and 
 
A DANGER SIGNAL 291 
 
 salaaming obsequiously, for that was what grand- 
 father had done on one or two occasions when, 
 owing to niconceivable wickedness, she had been 
 made to watch the passing of civilisation while 
 tied to a distant bed leg. 
 
 Craddock from his cab noticed the grave mim- 
 icry and smiled, whereupon Dhunni smiled back 
 brilliantly. And then something happened which 
 curiously enough changed her whole estimate of 
 civilisation, and left her with such an expression 
 on her face that when her grandfather returned 
 half an hour afterwards, his first thouglit was for 
 the red flag. The key was safe in his waistcloth, 
 yet still he began hurriedly; 
 
 "Thou didst not " 
 
 "Nay," she burst out in fury, "I did naught. 
 But theyl—7idn7ia, I hate them! I hate them!" 
 Then it turned out that the white dolls had 
 flung a stone at her — a hard stone — yes, the 
 pink and white child-dolls had flung a stone at 
 her just because she had smiled. So with hands 
 trembling with rage she produced in evidence a 
 large chunk of chocolate. 
 
 Dhunnu looked at it in superior wisdom, for 
 there had been white children sometimes in that 
 surveying camp below the hills. 
 
 " 'Tis no stone," he said ; " 'tis a foreign sweet- 
 meat. They meant well, being ignorant that we 
 
292 A DANGER SIGNAL 
 
 eat not such things. When they first come across 
 the black water they will even fling bread." 
 
 As he spoke he threw the offending morsel into 
 the desert and spat piously. Dhunni looked after 
 it with doubt and regret in her eyes. 
 
 " I deemed it a stone," she said at last. " Think 
 you it would have been sweet, like our sweet- 
 meats ? " 
 
 '' AH hudzart ! " cried the old man again. " Lak- 
 shmi be praised thou didst take bread for a stone, 
 else wouldst thou have eaten it and have been a 
 lost soul." 
 
 '' I Avould have tried if I liked it, anyhow," said 
 Dhunni shamelessly. And that night, while her 
 grandfather slept in the red-hot furnace to avoid 
 the chillness of dawn, the moon found something 
 else on the wide waste of sand, beside the crema- 
 torium and the regulation barrier, to yield her the 
 tribute of a shadow. It was Dhunni on all fours 
 seeking high and low for the chunk of chocolate, 
 and when she found it she sat up with it in her 
 little brown paws and nibbled away at it for all 
 the world like a squirrel. The result of which 
 experiment being that she smiled brilliantly at 
 every train from that time forth, perhaps in hopes 
 of more chocolate, perhaps from gratitude for past 
 chocolate, perhaps because she really was beginning 
 to be more sensible, 
 
A DANGER SIGNAL 293 
 
 " It is being born to her in lavish manner," said 
 old Dhunnu boastfully to an emissary of the future 
 mother-in-law, who came as far as the village to 
 inquire of the future bride's growth and health. 
 " Go, tell them she gives ' line clear ' as Avell as I 
 do, but that she is not yet of an age for the mar- 
 ried state." 
 
 In his heart of hearts, however, he knew very 
 well that the time could not be far distant when 
 he could no longer delay parting with the girl, 
 who was fast shooting up into a tall slip of a 
 thing. And then what should he do, for the fever 
 fiend had a fast grip on him now — a firmer hold 
 than he had upon life. Sometimes for days and 
 days he could scarcely creep to the gate when the 
 mail train passed, while, as for the " goods " and 
 "mixed," these low-caste trains he left entirely to 
 Dhunni's mercy; and safely, since the desire for 
 the danger signal seemed to have passed with the 
 possession of responsibility — and chocolate I 
 
 Thus Dhunni, far from the eyes of the world, 
 which would have sent her remorselessly into ths 
 slavery of mother-in-law, grew tall and slender, 
 and even in her old dust-coloured skirt and bodice 
 caused Craddock the engine-driver, as he sped by, 
 an occasional pang of regret as he remembered 
 another tall girl with velvety eyes. 
 
 So time passed until, as luck would have it, a 
 
294 A DANGER SIGNAL 
 
 wedding-party from the village where the future 
 mother-in-law resided chose to try a short cut over 
 the desert, and actually crossed the line at level 
 crossing Number 57. The result being that Dhun- 
 ni's readiness for the married state became known, 
 and a fortnight or so afterwards she sat looking 
 at the new suit of clothes and some jewels which 
 had been sent to her, with an intimation that 
 the bridal procession would come for her in a 
 week's time. 
 
 The presents were poor enough in themselves, 
 but then Dhunni had never seen anything so bright 
 before ; except, of course, the red flag. And 
 though the little round mirror set in the bridal 
 thumb-ring does not allow of much being seen 
 at a time, Dhunni saw enough to make her eyes 
 still more velvety, her smile still more bewitching. 
 
 " Favour is deceitful and beauty is vain," grum- 
 bled her grandfather in equivalent Hindu, but it 
 had no effect on the girl. All that day she 
 went about with an odd half-dazed look on her 
 face, and when the women who had brought the 
 presents left in the afternoon, she went and sat 
 down by the gate, feeling vaguely that it was 
 some one else and not the old Dhunnu who was 
 sitting there. The mail train had passed an hour 
 before, and the "goods" was not due till mid- 
 night, so there was no chance of anything to 
 
A DANGER SIGNAL 295 
 
 interrupt the level monotony she knew so well, 
 and yet, as she sat leaning against the gate-post 
 with the green flag beside her, she was waiting 
 for something ; for what she did not know. But 
 the certainty that life held something new was 
 thrilling to her very finger tips. 
 
 It was a yellow sunset, full of light and peace. 
 Then out of it came suddenly a faint roll, as of 
 distant thunder. She was on her feet in an instant, 
 listening, waiting. Ah! this was new, certainly. 
 This slie had never seen before. An engine with 
 a single carriage coming full speed out of the 
 golden west. Was she to give "line clear" to 
 this? or 
 
 The sound of a girl's laugh rang out into the 
 light, and a scarlet veil, deftly twisted round a 
 baton, hung clear into the line. 
 
 "What in the world's the matter?" asked an 
 English boy, as Craddock and the Westinghouse 
 brake combined brought the final quiver to the 
 great shining fly-wheel. He was a tall boy, fair- 
 haired, blue-eyed, imperious. The girl had given 
 a little gasp at the look on his face as he had leapt 
 from the still moving train to come towards her, 
 though she now stood looking at him boldly, the 
 improvised signal still in her hand. 
 
 "What is it, Craddock? Ask her. You under- 
 stand their lingo, I don't." 
 
296 A DANGER SIGNAL 
 
 Cracldock, leaning over the side of the cab, sur- 
 veyed the picture with a magisterial air. " Sorry 
 I brought 'er up, sir, tho' seein' a red rag it's kind 
 o' second natur' when your 'and's within reach o' 
 a brake, sir. And then she never done it before 
 — not all these years." 
 
 " But what is it ? I don't understand " 
 
 " Saving your presence, sir," replied Craddock 
 cheerfully, "there ain't no reason you shouldn't, 
 for it don't take any knowledge o' the lingo, sir ; 
 no more o' any kind o' knowledge but what you're 
 up to, sir, being, as the sayin' is, born o' Adam — 
 o' Adam an' Eve. It's mischief, sir, that's what 
 it is — mischief, and there ain't much difference 
 in the colour o' that, so far as I see, sir." 
 
 The boy's face showed nothing but angry, almost 
 incredulous, surprise for an instant, then something 
 else crept into it, softening it. '' By George ! Crad- 
 dock," he said argumentatively, " I'd no notion 
 they could look — er — like that. She is really 
 quite a pretty girl." He could not help a smile 
 somehow; whereat, to his sur^Drise, she smiled 
 back at him, the deliberately bewitching smile 
 born of that chunk of chocolate. It recalled him 
 to a sense of injured importance. 
 
 "This is most annoying, and when so much de- 
 pends on my catching up the mail," he continued. 
 " She will be stopping the next train too, I suppose ; 
 
A DANGER SIGNAL 297 
 
 but it can't be allowed, and she ought to be pun- 
 ished. I'll take her along and leave her at the 
 first station for inquiry, they can easily send 
 another signaller by the down train. Tell her, 
 Craddock." 
 
 " Better pukro 'er 'ath,'^ sir," remarked the latter 
 sagely as he prepared to descend, ''else she might 
 'oof it into the wilderness like one of them ravine 
 deer. Just you pukro 'er 'ath^ sir, while I samjhaS ^ 
 her." 
 
 Dhunni, however, did not attempt to run, she 
 only shrank a little when the boy's white hand 
 closed on hers. After that she stood listening to 
 Craddock's violent recriminations quite calmly. In 
 truth she expected them, for in those old games 
 of brag with ndrma they had gone further than 
 words, up to hanging in fact. Yet still not so 
 far as this queer tremor of half -fearful, half -joyful 
 expectation. That was new, but pleasant, and 
 filled her eyes with such light that Craddock 
 stroked his corn-coloured beard and shook his 
 head mournfully. 
 
 " She's a deal 'arder than I took 'er for, seein' 
 her always as it were, sir, from a different sp'eer. 
 A deal worse. If I'd a pair o' bracelets ready 
 they might give 'er a turn, but I've told 'er she'll 
 
 1 Take her hand. 
 
 2 Explain. 
 
298 A DANGER SIGNAL 
 
 go to 'ell in every lingo I know, for fear she 
 mightn't understand, and I'm blest if she care a 
 hang." 
 
 The boy gave a resentful laugh. 
 
 " I'll make her care before I've done with her. 
 There ! you there ! — what's your name ? — stick her 
 with you into the cook room. No ; shove her 
 into my carriage and I'll do chowkidar'^ till I can 
 hand her over. Now, Craddock, on with the 
 steam or I shall miss my connection. Confound 
 the girl ! " 
 
 It was easy to confound her in the abstract ; 
 easy also to glower at the offender crouched in 
 the off corner before you threw yourself into the 
 arm-chair in the other and began to read the last 
 number of a magazine by the waning light. But 
 what was to be done when it was gradually being 
 borne in on you that a pair of velvety eyes, wild 
 as a young deer's, were Avatching you fearlessly. 
 She was a good plucked one, at any rate. Crad- 
 dock had said she was as hard as nails and a bad 
 lot. Well, he ought to know ; but she did not 
 look bad, not at all. The eyes were good eyes, 
 full of straightforward curiosity, nothing more. 
 There she was bending down to try the texture 
 of the carpet with her finger, as if nothing had 
 occurred — the little monkey — and what white 
 1 Watchman. 
 
A DANGER SIGNAL 299 
 
 teeth she had when she met his involuntary smile 
 with another. 
 
 After that, under cover of his book, he watched 
 her furtively. It was what is called an inspection 
 carriage, a regular room on wheels, and the boy, 
 new to the honour and glory of such a thing, 
 liad hung pictures on its walls, curtains to its 
 windows. There was even a vase of flowers be- 
 side the newly lit lamp on tlie centre table. The 
 lamp had a pink shade too, which threw" a rosy 
 light on everything, above all on tliat slender 
 figure crouching in the far corner. And outside 
 the golden sunset was fast fading into cold greys. 
 
 '' You want to know^ what that is," he said sud- 
 denly, in English, laying down his book and 
 pointing in the direction where her eyes had been 
 fixed. An expectant look came to them, and he 
 stood for a moment irresolute. Then he rose with 
 an impatient shrug of his shoulders, crossed to 
 the small harmonium which lay open, set his foot 
 to the pedal and struck a single note. She drew 
 back from the sound just, he thought, as she had 
 drawn back from his hand, and then looked at 
 him as she had looked at him then. By Jove I 
 she had eyes I 
 
 Still looking at her lie sat down to the instru- 
 ment and played a chord or two out of sheer curi- 
 osity. Her finger went up to her lip, she leaned 
 
300 A BANGER SIGNAL 
 
 forward, a picture of glad surprise. And then a 
 sudden fancy seized him. He had a tenor voice, 
 and there was a song upon the desk. Singing in 
 a train, ev^en in a single carriage on a smooth line, 
 was a poor performance, but it would be fun to 
 
 try. 
 
 " The Devout Lover," of all songs in the world ! 
 The humour, the bitter irony of it struck him 
 keenly and decided him. And as he sang he felt 
 with a certain anger that he had never sung it 
 better — might never sing it so well again. 
 
 When he turned to her again it struck him that 
 she recognised this also, for she was leaning for- 
 ward half on her knees, her hands stretched out 
 over the seat. No one could have listened more 
 eagerly. 
 
 In sudden petulance he rose and went to the 
 window. There was only a bar of gold now on 
 the horizon, and, thank Heaven ! they had come 
 faster than he thought — or he wasted more time 
 in tomfoolery — for they were already entering the 
 broken ground. That must be the first ravine, 
 dark as a ditch ; so ere long he Avould be able to 
 get rid of those curious eyes. Powers above I Was 
 fate against him ? Was he never to arrive at his 
 destination ? And what did Craddock mean by 
 putting the brake hard on again when they were 
 miles away even from a level crossing? He was 
 
A DANGER SIGNAL 301 
 
 out on tlie footboard as tliey slackened, shouting 
 angry inquiries long before Craddock's voice could 
 possibly come back to him through the lessening 
 rattle. 
 
 "Danger signal comin' down the line. On a 
 trolly, I think, sir. Somethin's wrong." 
 
 Apparently there was, and yet the English voice 
 which sang out of the darkness had a joyful ring 
 of triumph in it, and tlie friendly hand which fol- 
 lowed the voice, after a minute or two, sliook the 
 boy's hand amid warm congratulations on the 
 narrowest escape ; for no one had thought it could 
 possibly be done, or that warning could possibly be 
 given in time. It was the veriest piece of luck ! 
 Briefly, just after the mail had passed, a big cul- 
 vert had given not two miles further down the 
 line. They had telegraphed the information both 
 ways of course, though, as no train was due for 
 hours, there was plenty of time for repairs. Then 
 had come the return wire, telling of the boy's start 
 to overtake the mail on urgent business. Every 
 one had said it was too late ; and, after all, it 
 had been a matter of five minutes or less. The 
 veriest luck indeed ! If they had been five minutes 
 earlier . . . 
 
 The boy looked solemnly at Craddock, and the 
 light of the red lamp, dim as it was, showed a cer- 
 tain emotion in both faces. 
 
302 A DANGER SIGNAL 
 
 " That's about it, sir," said Craddock, a trifle 
 huskily. " Au' I tellin' her she'd go to *ell ! Lordy ! 
 ain't it like a woman to have the last word?" 
 
 He said no more then, but when it had been 
 decided to return the way they had come, and 
 take a branch line farther down, and when the 
 trolly with its red signal had slipped back silently 
 into the night, he came and stood at the carriage 
 door for a moment. And as he looked at the 
 figure crouching contentedly in the corner, lie 
 stroked his beard thoughtfully again, and went on 
 as if no interval had come between his last words 
 and his present ones. 
 
 "But she saved our lives, sir, by stoppin' us, 
 that's what she done, sure as my name's Nathaniel 
 James, and when a girl done that, a man's got 
 nothin' left but, as the sayin' is, to act fair an' 
 square by her — fair an' square." 
 
 " Just so, Craddock," replied the boy, with a 
 queer stiffness in his voice. ••' We'll drop her at 
 the gate again, and — and it shall be just — just 
 as if it — as if it hadn't happened." Then he 
 added in a lower voice, " Spin along as fast as 
 you can, man, and let's have done with it." 
 
 "I won't leave her a /iounce for a whistle, sir," 
 said Craddock laconically. 
 
 So the carriage with the rosy light streaming 
 through the windows shot forth into the darkness 
 
A DANGER SIGNAL 303 
 
 in front, and the sparks from the engine drifted 
 into the darkness behind, and the roar and the 
 rush drowned all other sonnds. Perhaps Craddock 
 whistled in the cab to make up for not being able 
 to whistle on his engine. Perhaps the boy sang 
 songs again in the carriage because he could not 
 speak to the girl. Anyhow, they were both silent 
 when the fly-wheel quivered into rest once more 
 beside level crossing Number 57. 
 
 ''Stop a bit," said a rather unsteady voice as 
 a girl's figure paused against the rosy light of the 
 open door. "It's too long a step. I'll lift you 
 down." 
 
 Craddock, looking over the side, turned away 
 and gave a sympathising little cough as if to cover 
 some slighter sound. Perhaps he knew what 
 Avould have happened if he had been in the boy's 
 place. 
 
 The next instant, some one sprang into the cab 
 and turned the steam hard on, some one with a 
 half-pained, half -glad look on his face. 
 
 " Now then, Craddock, right we are ! " 
 
 And Craddock, as he bent to look at the indi- 
 cator, answered, " Right it is, sir ; fair and square. 
 Full pressure and no mischief come of it." 
 
 "I hope not," said the boy softly; "but it is 
 a bit hard to know — to know what is fair and 
 square — with — with some people." 
 
304 A DANGER SIGNAL 
 
 Perhaps he was right ; for Dhunni stood gazing 
 after the red and green lights Avith a dazed look 
 on her face. The danger signal had come into her 
 life — the train had stopped, and then — and ? 
 
AMOR YINCIT OMNIA 
 
 This story began and ended in a public library. 
 An odd, forlorn little offshoot of progress, dibbled 
 out beyond the Avails of a far-away Indian city, 
 which drowsed through the sunny to-day as it had 
 drowsed through many a century of sunny yester- 
 days. True it is that in a certain mimetic and 
 superficial manner Pooranabad had changed with 
 the changing years. It had evolved a municipal 
 committee, and this in its turn had given birth 
 to various simulacra of civilisation ; but in effect 
 the former was but the old council of elders in 
 modern guise, and the latter but Jonah's gourd, 
 springing up in a day or a night at the bidding of 
 some minor prophet from over the seas. They 
 came and went, these minor prophets, each with 
 his theory, his hobby ; and even when Pooranabad 
 knew them no more, it could remember its rulers 
 by the libraries and band-stands, the public gardens, 
 the schools, and the museums they had left behind 
 them. 
 
 The library itself stood in the midst of a newly 
 X 305 
 
306 AMOR YINCIT OMNIA 
 
 laid-out public garden, which but two summers 
 before had been a most evil-smelling tank — at 
 least, for nine months of the year ; the remaining 
 three found it a shining lake flushed with fresh 
 rain and carpeted with pink lotus blossom. But 
 culture of all sorts had stepped in with drain- 
 pipes, bricks, mortar, flowers, and books, and the 
 result was a maze of winding Avalks, stubbly grass, 
 and stunted bushes gathered round a square stuc- 
 coed building of one room encircled b}^ an arched 
 verandah. To east and south the deceptive walls 
 and flat mud roofs of the native city looked like 
 towers against the sky. To west and north stood 
 avenues of shishuin trees, with here and there a 
 peep of the white bungalows wherein the minor 
 prophets dwelt and grew gourds. 
 
 Within, under the one roof hung with tw^o 
 punkahs, stood two tables, the one littered with 
 English magazines and illustrated papers, the other 
 bare, save for a few leaflets of the native press, 
 with high-sounding names and full of still more 
 lofty sentiments. The two bookcases, one at each 
 end of the room, showed the same well-intentioned, 
 but unsuccessful, impartiality; for the eastern one 
 was nearly empty, while the western overflowed, 
 chiefly with novels ; a dozen shelves of them to 
 one of miscellaneous literature, made up for the 
 most part of works on the Central Asian question 
 
AMOR VINCIT OMNIA 307 
 
 and missionary reports. The novels, however, had 
 a solid appearance, since most of them had been 
 re-bound by the district-office bookbinder in the 
 legal calf and boards which he used also for the 
 circulars and acts by which India is governed. 
 
 Before this bookcase stood the only occupant of 
 the room, a tall w^eedy boy of about fifteen. A 
 boy with remarkably thin legs, somewhat of a 
 stoop in his narrow shoulders, and a supple brown 
 finger travelling slowly along the ill-spelt titles 
 of the book ; ill spelt, because the Government 
 bookbinder could hardly be expected to grapple 
 successfull}^ with the title of a modern novel. 
 The hesitations of this brown finger might have 
 served as an index to the owner's taste, and showed 
 a distinct leaning towards sentiment. It lingered 
 over several suggestive titles, until it finally set- 
 tled on something writ large in three volumes. 
 After which the boy, crossing to a double desk 
 midway between the tables, wrote in the English 
 register in a fine bold hand any clerk might have 
 envied : 
 
 Amor Vincit Omnia. Govind Sahai, Kyasth. 
 
 So, with tAvo volumes under his arm, and one 
 held close to his soft, short-sighted black eyes, 
 Govind Sahai, of the tribe of Kyasths, or scribes, 
 made his way citywards down one of the winding 
 
308 AMOR VINCIT OMNIA 
 
 paths. Thus strolling along he was typical of the 
 great multitude of Indian boys of his age. Boys 
 who read — great heavens ! what do they not read, 
 with their pale intelligent faces close to the let- 
 tering ? And their thoughts ? — that is a mystery. 
 Govind Sahai's face was no exception to the 
 rule ; it was young, yet old ; high-featured, yet 
 gentle ; the ascetic hollows in the temples belied 
 by the long sweeping curves in the mouth, and 
 both these features neutralised by the feminine 
 oval of the cheek. He was the only son of a 
 widow, who, thanks to his existence, led a busy 
 and contented life in her father-in-law's otherwise 
 childless house ; for the honours of motherhood in 
 India are great. Yet she was poor beyond belief 
 to Western ears. Across the black water, in a 
 Christian country, such poverty would have meant 
 misery, but in the old simplicity of Pooranabad the 
 little household managed to be happy ; above all, 
 in its hopes for the future, when Govind's edu- 
 cation should be over, and he be free to follow 
 his hereditary trade as a writer. His father had 
 found his ancestral level, oddly enough, in com- 
 piling sanitary statistics in an English office, until 
 the cholera added one to the mortality returns by 
 carrying him off as a victim; after which all the 
 interest of life to the inhabitants of the little 
 courtyard and slip of roof which Govind called 
 
AMOR VINCIT OMNIA 309 
 
 home centred in the clever boy, who could only 
 follow his father's trade if he succeeded in gaining 
 the necessary pass ; for education has undermined 
 heredity. So Govind worked hard for the scholar- 
 ship which would enable him to go to college. 
 Day after day he absorbed an amount of informa- 
 tion which was perfectly prodigious. INIonth after 
 month found him further and further adrift on the 
 sea of knoAvledge. Even in play-time he gorged 
 himself on new ideas, as might be seen by the 
 library register. It was not only Amo?' Vincit 
 Omnia which showed on its pages, but many 
 another similar work : 
 
 Lost for Love, Govind Sahai, Kyasth. 
 
 Love the Master, " " 
 
 My Sweetheart, " " 
 
 One Life, One Love, " " 
 
 And so on down one column and up another, for 
 the boy read fast. 
 
 On this particular hot, dusty May morning he 
 became so interested in his last book that he sat 
 down on the parapet of the city's central sewer, 
 and twining one thin leg round the other plunged 
 headlong into a sentimental scene between two 
 lovers, heedless of his unsavoury environments. 
 The interweaving of intellectual emotion and ma- 
 terial sensation pictured on the page seemed to 
 
810 AMOR VINCIT OMNIA 
 
 this boy, just verging upon manhood, to be an 
 inspiration, lifting the whole subject into a new 
 world of pure passion. It appealed, as a matter 
 of fact, though he knew it not, both to his in- 
 herited instincts and his acquired ideas, thus sat- 
 isfying both. 
 
 " My darling^^'' said Victor^ raising her stveet face 
 to his, and pressing a kiss on those pure, pale lips, 
 " love such as ours is eternal. Earth has no power " 
 — et cpetera, et ceetera, et cietera. The tears posi- 
 tively came into his eyes; he seemed to feel the 
 touch of those lips on his, making him shiver. 
 
 The little soft tendrils of her hair stirred ivith 
 his breath as Una, shrinking to his side, ivhispered, 
 *' I am not afraid when I am ivith you, my king. I 
 feel so strong! so strong to maintain the Bight .^ 
 Strong to maintain our Love before all the ivorld ! 
 For Love is of Heaven, is it not, dear heart? " " Our 
 Love is,'' murmured Victor, once more raising her 
 pure, pale Et csetera, et csetera, et cietera. 
 
 Yes, it was very beautiful, very exalting; also 
 very disturbing to this inheritor of a nature built 
 on simpler, more direct lines. That ancestral past 
 of his seemed brutally bald beside this highly deco- 
 rated castle of chivalry. 
 
 '' Aha ! Good evening, pupil Govind," broke in 
 
AMOR VINCIT OMNIA 311 
 
 the accurate voice of Narayan Chanel, head master 
 of the district school. "You have, I am ghad to 
 see, availed j^ourself of advantages of public library. 
 With what mental pabulum have you provided your- 
 self this summer's eve ? " 
 
 As he spoke, he seated himself likewise on the 
 parapet of the sewer, and read over the boy's 
 shoulder, Aynor Vincit Omnia. Then his spec- 
 tacled glance travelled down the page, returning 
 for comfort to the title ; that, at least, smacked 
 of learning. " Ah, aha I I see. Light literature. 
 Good for colloquial, and of paramount use in vivas. 
 So far, well. For superiority of diction, neverthe- 
 less, and valuability to grammar studies, give me 
 Tatler^ Spectator, and such classics." 
 
 Govind closed his book in most unusual irrita- 
 tion. " Even in English literature, master-y^, new 
 things may be better than old." 
 
 " Of that there is no possible doubt," quoted mas- 
 tei-ji, with cheerful gravity. He was a most dili- 
 gent reader of the English papers, and used to sit 
 at the library table for hours of an evening de- 
 vouring the critiques on Gilbert's or Tennyson's 
 last with undiscriminating absorption in the forma- 
 tion and style of the sentence. His quotations 
 were in consequence more various than select. " Of 
 that there can be no possible probable manner of 
 doubt, as a modern poet puts it tersely," he re- 
 
312 AMOR VINCIT OMNIA 
 
 peated, tilting his embroidered smoking-cap farther 
 from his forehead and drawing the black alpaca 
 tails of his coat round his legs ; '' yet still, for all 
 that, it is held, that — to speak colloquially — for 
 taking the cake of scholarship the classics " 
 
 Govind Sahai put his feet to the ground and the 
 first volume under his arm. 
 
 " Master-y^, when one labours long days at cube 
 roots, then classics in the evening become excessive. 
 Life is not all learning; life is love also." 
 
 He was quoting from the book he had been 
 reading. 
 
 " Sits the wind in that quarter," began Narayan 
 sagely ; then he looked at the boy reflectively and 
 changed manner and language. " That brings to 
 memory, my son," he said in Hindustani. '^ When 
 comes thy wedding procession ? I must speak to 
 the virtuous widow that it come in vacation time, 
 so as not to interfere Avith study." 
 
 A sullen indifference was on Govind's face. 
 
 " You need not fear, master-yi ; I mean to have 
 the scholarship. The wedding will make no dif- 
 ference." 
 
 Narayan Chand smiled a superior smile. 
 
 "Nay, my son ; it must — it should — for a time. 
 So is the vacation convenient. Thou canst return 
 to school when the festal season is over. Come, 
 I will speak to thy relations even now." 
 
AMOR VINCIT OMNIA 813 
 
 The widow was sifting wheat. A pleasant-faced 
 little dump of a woman, with dimples on her bare 
 brown arms. 
 
 " Mother," said Govind calmly, " is grandfather 
 in? The iimster-ji hath come about my wedding." 
 
 " What have men to say to such things ? " she 
 answered, with a shrill laugh ; " go tell mastev-ji, 
 heart of mine eyes, that it is settled for the first 
 week of vacation. Her people were here but now. 
 Hurri hai I but I shall laugh and cry to see thee ! 
 There shall be nothing wanting at all I Flowers 
 and sweets and merriment. Thy granny and I 
 have toiled and spun for it. And the bride 
 sweeter than honey. Fie ! Govind, be not shy 
 with thy mother ! Think of the bride she gives 
 thee, and tell her thou art happy." 
 
 She flung her arms round her tall son, kissing him 
 and plying him with questions till he smirked sillily. 
 
 " Happy enough, mother, " he admitted, then felt 
 Amor Vincit Omnia under his arm,, and sighed. 
 '' I would much rather not be married ; at least, 
 I think not. Oh, mother, I would she had fair 
 hair and blue eyes ! " 
 
 " Lakshmi ! hear him ! Wouldst marry a fright, 
 Govind ? Wait the auspicious moment ; wait till 
 I lift the veil. Oh, the beauty ! fresh from the 
 court of Indra, wheat-coloured and languishing 
 with jewels and love." 
 
314 AMOR vmciT OMNIA 
 
 Govind shook his head. 
 
 "Profane not the great name of Love." He 
 quoted to himself, being forced to this secrecy by 
 the fact that the only language his mother under- 
 stood has no word for love — as he meant it. So 
 he added mournfully, " I am ready for my duty 
 whenever you wish it, mother ; that is enough." 
 
 Nevertheless, he dreamt dreams that night as he 
 lay curled up on his short string bed, with the 
 second volume of Avio?- Vincit Omnia under the 
 quilt, so as to be ready for the early summer dawn. 
 Out under the stars in the bare, mud-walled court- 
 yard, destitute to Western eyes of all comfort, he 
 dreamt the dreams of his race — of a gorgeously 
 attired bride, shy, yet alluring, looking at him for 
 the first time. 
 
 '' Thou hast a nightmare," said his mother crossly, 
 wlien just before daybreak he woke them all by 
 sitting up in his bed and declaiming, Amor vincit 
 omnia in a loud voice. " 'Tis that book under thy 
 head. Put it aside, and lie as thy forefathers lay; 
 they dreamt not of pillows. So shalt thou sleep 
 sound and let others sleep also." 
 
 She went yawning back to bed, and lay awake 
 till dawn brought work, counting over the savings 
 she had made, and calculating how much she could 
 spare for flowers and sweets and spiced dishes, for 
 all the hitherto unknown luxuries Avhich, according 
 
AMOR VINCIT OMNIA 315 
 
 to custom, were to make the boy's life a dream of 
 pleasure for a time. Only for a time, since tlie 
 scholarship had to be gained. 
 
 A month afterwards a red-curtained bridal pal- 
 anquin containing a mysterious bride was carried 
 over the threshold of the little mud courtyard, 
 and Govind Sahai, with a silver triptych on his 
 forehead, his ears tasselled with evil-smelling mari- 
 golds, his scented tinsel coat hung with jasmine 
 chaplets, dismounted from a pink-nosed pony 
 amidst an admiring crowd. That was an end of 
 the spectacle as far as the outside world was con- 
 cerned. Within it was only beginning for those 
 two fond women who had spun and scraped and 
 saved for this great occasion ever since the bride- 
 groom was five years old. Much had to be done 
 ere they would sit down in proud peace knowing 
 that no possible enhancement of delight had been 
 omitted. The boy himself went througli the count- 
 less ceremonies, all tending towards an apotheosis of 
 the senses, with a certain shy dignity ; perhaps the 
 sight of master-y^ doing wedding guest in a copper- 
 coloured alpaca coat gave him confidence by re- 
 minding him that even the learned stoop to folly. 
 He was pale, partly from the turmeric baths, which 
 are supposed to produce a complexion favourable 
 to feminine eyes, partly because he really felt sick 
 after the unusual sloth and sweets of the last few 
 
316 AMOR VINCIT OMNIA 
 
 days. So much for his physical state. Of his mental 
 condition this much may be presaged : that if either 
 his inherited instincts or his acquired convictions had 
 any reality whatever, it must have been chaos. 
 
 More chaotic than ever when, far into the night, 
 after endless tests and trials, Nihali, the mysterious 
 bride, proved beautiful as as ? 
 
 Well, the fact was sure ; only the comparison 
 remained doubtful. The inherited instincts said a 
 peri, the acquired convictions an angel. Both, it 
 will be observed, denizens of another world. But 
 
 then there are more '' other worlds " than one. 
 
 ****** 
 
 " Master Naraj^an Chand hath sent to remind us 
 that school re-opens next week," said Govind's 
 mother when nigh two months had passed ; two 
 months during which the path of life had been 
 smoothed, scented, and decorated for the special 
 use of a l)oy and a girl. Govind Sahai looked up 
 from his Avork, which was, briefly, holding Nihali's 
 slim, ring-bedecked fingers. The fact that he did 
 so on pretence of teaching her to write is of sec- 
 ondary importance. She was undoubtedly a very 
 pretty girl, and her delicate, refined face was at 
 that moment full of adoring tenderness for the 
 lad beside her. Not thirteen at the most, she was 
 taller than English girls of that age, but far more 
 slender, with a figure still following the straight 
 
AMOR VINCIT OMNIA 317 
 
 lines of cliildliood. Graceful for all that, since 
 her small head poised well over a round throat, 
 and the want of contour was dexterously hidden 
 by masses of jewellery, gleaming through the 
 tinsel-shot veil. Even from Avrist to elbow the 
 thinness of the arm was concealed by the bridal 
 bracelets of white ivory lined with red, whilst the 
 slender ankles beneath the scarlet, gold-bordered 
 petticoat were hung with silver-gilt jingles. 
 
 A typical bride briefly, arrayed in all attrac- 
 tions, save for the big nose-ring, with its dangling 
 golden spoon hiding the lip. Govind objected to 
 its presence, his mother to its absence — both, curi- 
 ously enough, for the same reason — because it 
 served as a check to indiscriminate kissing- of 
 the bride. The pious widow used to blush over 
 her son's habit of saying good-bye to his wife 
 when he had to leave her for an hour or 
 two. It might be English fashion, warranted by 
 all the love-literature in creation ; it was not 
 decent. Neither did she approve of seeing them, 
 as now, seated together over that ridiculous farce 
 of pothooks. Marriage was one thing, love-making 
 was another, so she spoke sharply. 
 
 "Well," answered the boy, utterly unabashed, 
 " dost think I have forgotten, amma ja7i? (Mother 
 dear.) Nay ! Nihali hath been hearing my holi- 
 day task half the morning. Hast not— O Nihali? " 
 
318 AMOR VINCIT OMNIA 
 
 His arm, under cover of the veil, stole round the 
 girl's waist and remained there; — a flagrant breach 
 of decorum which, fortunately for the female ac- 
 complice, remained unnoticed by mother-in-law, who 
 was busy over a knot in a thread she was skeining 
 from her unending pirn. Yet Nihali, despite this 
 aAvful lapse, looked sweet and good enough to fill 
 the heroine's part in any novel, and her looks did 
 not belie her. The past two months had been a 
 fever of delight to Govind. With the curious 
 apathetic resignation to the limitations of custom 
 so noticeable in clever Indian lads whose brains 
 are full of theories, he had accepted marriage in 
 the spirit of his forebears, only to find that Love 
 (with a big L) such as he had read of in books 
 was actually within his reach. To be sure, in 
 books the object was chosen by the lover ; but 
 what did that matter in the end? So he used up 
 all the stock-in-trade of the sentimental novelist 
 for little Nihali's benefit, and she listened to his 
 rhapsodies on perfect marriage and twin souls, her 
 eyes set wide with wonder, admiration, and belief. 
 No "first lady" in white satin could have played 
 her part more prettily than this Indian child of 
 thirteen, who from her cradle had been taught 
 to venerate her husband as a god, and who now, 
 in a sort of rapture, found herself the object of a 
 sentimental passion absolutely novel and bewilder- 
 
AMOR YINCIT OMNIA 319 
 
 ing. She nestled her sleek head on his shoulder, 
 telling him that she believed every word he said. 
 And so she did ; had he told her the world was 
 flat, instead of explaining to her with great pomp 
 and precision that she was living on an orange de- 
 pressed at the poles, it would have been the same 
 to her. The world she lived in was of his creating. 
 Like most Hindu girls of the higher classes, she 
 had a marvellous memory, and Govind had hardly 
 known whether to be pleased or pained at the dis- 
 covery that, after hearing him read it over a few 
 times, she knew his repetition better than he did 
 himself ; yet, shy of her own exploit, she only 
 replied to his laughing reference to the holiday 
 task by a timid squeeze of the hand still holding 
 hers. 
 
 Mother-in-law broke the knot with a snap ; a 
 habit with the determined little woman, who there- 
 inafter would twirl the ends together as if nothing 
 had happened. One twist of the thumb, and all 
 was as it had been. 
 
 " I know not what holiday tasks may mean," 
 she said scornfully. " In my time work was work, 
 and play play. So must it be now. Nihali's people 
 have sent to ask when she returns to them, after 
 established custom. I have answered, 'When school 
 begins.' " 
 
 They had been so supremely, so innocently happy 
 
320 AMOR VINCIT OMNIA 
 
 over their pothooks ! And now the consternation on 
 their two young faces was quite piteous. Mother- 
 in-law, however, found it scandalous. Did not all 
 decent girls cry to go home long before the honey- 
 moon was over? Had not she herself wept bit- 
 terly in her time ; and there was Nihali actually 
 snivelling at the idea of leaving ; before her hus- 
 band, too ! And Govind was no better. 
 
 " It is so soon," pleaded the boy, too much 
 taken aback for instant revolt ; besides, the sit- 
 uation had never come into any of the novels he 
 had read, so he really felt unable to cope with it. 
 
 His remark only increased the pitch of his 
 mother's voice. Soon, was it? Had he not had 
 two months of billing and cooing, to gain which 
 she and grannie had spun their fingers to the bone ? 
 Soon ! Whose fault was it if time had been Avasted 
 over alphabets and pothooks ? Her shrill tones 
 brought grannie from her labours below, and be- 
 fore these two eminently respectable matrons the 
 guilty pair could only hold each other's hands like 
 the babes in the wood, feeling lost and miserable. 
 
 That afternoon he went over to the public library, 
 for the first time since his marriage, and spent hours 
 hunting up precedents on the subject, only to re- 
 turn discomfited and hopeless. Nihali would revolt, 
 of course, if he bade her follow his lead ; but how 
 could he bear to have the finger of scorn puinled 
 
AMOR viNCiT o:mnia 321 
 
 at her by those unacquainted with the theory of 
 perfect marriage and twin souls? That night, 
 when the rest of the little household retired from 
 the roof, leaving the luxury of fresh air to the 
 younger people, he and Nihali sat down under the 
 stars on the still flower-strewn bed, and cried like 
 the children they were. 
 
 So with awful swiftness the dawn came when 
 Govind had to put on the pale-pink turban pro- 
 claiming him a first-class middle student, and set 
 off to school with his books under his arm ; books, 
 on the whole, less disturbing than Amor Vincit 
 Omnia and its congeners. Nothing fui-ther had 
 been said about Nihali's approaching departure. 
 It was inevitable, of course ; meanwhile, they must 
 make the most of the time left to them. So Govind 
 looked haggard and feverish as he took his accus- 
 tomed place ; nevertheless, being student by nature, 
 the work beguiled him. By evening he was light- 
 hearted enough to run home and race up the 
 crumbling stairs leading to the roof, full of anec- 
 dotes and news for Nihrdi. There was no one to 
 receive them. The roof itself had resumed its 
 normal workaday appearance, and in the very place 
 where the little bride had sat on her lacquered 
 bridal stool, squatted his mother, piecing two broken 
 strands of her skein together as if nothing had 
 happened. x\nd notliing out of the common had 
 
322 AMOR VINCIT OMNIA 
 
 happened. Whose fault Avas it if Govind flung 
 himself on his face and wept like a babj for what 
 was beyond his reach ? 
 
 His mother had expected so much when she 
 planned her eoui) d'etat. But he continued to cry 
 — Avhich she did not expect ; for something more 
 complex than simple passion had been aroused in 
 the boy. Of that he might have been ashamed ; 
 in this he gloried. Was it not, in short, a legiti- 
 mate subject for self-glorification ? So he wept 
 himself sick in a subdued docile sort of Avay. 
 Finally, master-y^ called one day in consternation 
 to say that, though painstaking as ever, poor Govind 
 could not remember the simplest problem ; while 
 as for riders, he just sat and looked at them. The 
 scholarship was thus in danger. She tried scolding 
 the boy in good set terms, but he met her reproaches 
 with an invulnerable superiority before which she 
 stood aghast. What was to be done ? Perhaps 
 this spiriting away of the bride in order to avoid 
 a scene had been an error, but was that any reason 
 why she should be requested to return ? To begin 
 with, it would be an appalling breach of etiquette, 
 and then there was the risk of consequences much 
 to be deprecated between such very young people. 
 The whole household, including master-y^, puzzled 
 over the difficulty, winch seemed all the more puz- 
 zling because it was so uncalled for, boys having 
 
AMOR YINCIT OMNIA 323 
 
 been married at fifteen and sent to school again 
 afterwards since time began without an}^ fuss. 
 But then, those boys had not read A7nor Vincit 
 Oimiia and learnt to mix sentiment with passion. 
 
 While matters were at this deadlock, Nihali's 
 mother arrived on the scene unexpectedly, and, 
 en petit comite with the women-folk, gave a new 
 turn to affairs. The possibility suggested was in 
 a measure disconcerting, but, on the other hand, 
 afforded Govind's mother an opportunity of re- 
 treating with dignity, since the girl must not be 
 allowed to fret as she had been fretting. 
 
 The result being that a week afterwards Govind 
 Sahai did a difficult rider in a Avay which made 
 Narayan Chand dream dreams of a future when 
 folk would say, " This eminent man received pri- 
 mary and secondary education at the hands of our 
 most successful teacher of youth. Pundit Narayan 
 Chand." It was a dream he frequently indulged 
 in about his pupils. 
 
 The little strip of roof was once more frequented 
 by pigeons, and the snappings and joinings of 
 threads relegated for the most part to the court 
 below. Yet the boy's appetite did not return, 
 and as winter came on he developed a teasing 
 cough in that narrow chest of his. The fact was 
 that he burnt the candle of life at both ends in 
 more ways than one. Perhaps if his soul could 
 
324 AMOR VINCIT OMNIA 
 
 have been left in peace he might have passed 
 through the ordeal safely, as many a boy manages 
 to do in India. But it was not. Poor Govind 
 had no rest. He strung himself up to the highest 
 pitch in obedience to the mixed result of his birth 
 and education. Then on this quivering instru- 
 ment he proceeded to play scales. It was Tausig's 
 exercises on a zither. He had to teach himself, 
 teach Nihali, think of the coming baby, and go 
 through the whole gamut of intellectual and physi- 
 cal emotion of which he had read. The first string 
 gave way when his mother, laughing, crying, and 
 blessing him all in a breath, put a boy bal)y into 
 his arms on his return from school one day. He 
 sat down stupidly on the lowest step of the mud 
 stairs, gazing at what he held in a sort of bewil- 
 dered amaze at finding himself thus, till his mother 
 angrily snatched the child from him, saying he 
 should be ashamed of shedding tears on a new- 
 born baby's face. It was very like Nihrdi, he 
 thought, only years older with all those wrinkles. 
 Then he thought helplessly how he had decided, 
 with Nihali's consent of course, on a thousand 
 contraventions of old customs at this time. Yet 
 there was she upstairs in the hands of the wise 
 women, and the baby ready to be doctored by its 
 grandmother. What could a boy of sixteen do 
 against such odds? So the little proselytising 
 
AMOR VJNCIT OMNIA 325 
 
 pamphlet he had read was put away with a sigh ; 
 and after all Nihfdi did very well under the old 
 regime. He found her, when the wise w^omen per- 
 mitted him, in the seventh heaven over the baby. 
 Was there ever such a doll, with its little sharp 
 nose and pinched-up lips ! And would he believe 
 it?— the tiny creature was so lazy that grand- 
 mother had to tickle it so — on the mouth — before 
 it would take any interest in the sugar and spices I 
 By and by, when she could nurse it herself, it 
 would be different. She lay smiling at the idea, 
 while downstairs, as they left the house, the gos- 
 sips were shaking their heads and saying calml}^ 
 "It is an unnecessary baby, but a forerunner. 
 Others will come. There is plenty of time." 
 
 Even when Nihali could not nurse the child, 
 and they had recourse to a Maw's feeder, which 
 Govind, with many blushes, bought at the same 
 shop which supplied him with slate pencils, those 
 two young things feared nothing. He used to 
 bring his books to the roof where she lay with the 
 little quiet mouse of a thing tucked away in her 
 veil. Then, while the sun set red over the dusty 
 city, he worked away at all the " ologies " — worked 
 somewhat feverishly, since more depended now on 
 his success. Sometimes Nihali's smile gurgled over 
 in laughter, and Govind, looking up, would find 
 baby's fingers being clasped round his pen. 
 
326 AMOR VINCIT OMNIA 
 
 '' Look you," she would whisper, as if in presence 
 of some great potentate, " I asked my lord if he 
 wished to be a writer too, and see how fast he 
 holds ! " 
 
 There was one thing, however, to which the 
 baby did not hold fast, and that was life. But 
 not till the very day before the eventful examina- 
 tion, which meant so much to Govind, did those 
 two children read fear in each other's faces about 
 that other child. 
 
 " Oh, Govind ! what shall we do ? what shall 
 we do? " wailed Nihfdi, when the grandmother, see- 
 ing them wild with anxiety, told them the truth, 
 while the great-grandmother stood by wagging her 
 head and mumbling of others by and by. What 
 was that to them now? How he got through the 
 next day he never knew. He took the papers and 
 went with them to his desk ; nay, more, he did his 
 level best with them, nerving himself to the effort 
 chiefly by thoughts of master-y^s disappointment if 
 he failed. But his personal interest in the matter 
 seemed gone ; that was centred on a roof in the 
 dusty city where one child sat crying over another. 
 What were plus or minus to him save a world with 
 or without an unnecessary infant ? 
 
 All that night was passed beside Nihilli, waiting 
 for his mother's voice to say the end had come ; 
 but the morning found the little sleeper still in 
 
AMOR VINCIT OMXIA 327 
 
 the young mother's arms. Perhaps there was still 
 hope. He hastily swallowed some breakfast, and, 
 delayed by this hint of respite, found himself 
 five minutes late in the examination-room. The 
 first pa^Ders had already been given out, and to 
 avoid possibility of fraud none save those pres- 
 ent at the issue were allowed to compete. So 
 Govind had to sit idle for a while, knowing he 
 had lost a definite number of chances. Nor was 
 this the worst ; the pause gave him time for 
 thought. Hitherto, once within the familiar walls, 
 old habits of attention and forgetfulness had pos- 
 sessed him. Now, with nothing to do, he remem- 
 bered and yet forgot. So when the order to go 
 up for the second paper came he rose with his 
 brain in a whirl, a wdld desire to cry, ''Let me 
 alone, my baby is dying ! " seeming to blot out 
 everything else in the world. Perhaps had he 
 done so he might have had a chance in the ex- 
 aminers' human pity ; as it Avas he pulled himself 
 together, and failed hopelessly. 
 
 In the pause before the viva voce he sat looking 
 straight before him, dully conscious that he had 
 done badly. 
 
 " Govind has never been the same since he mar- 
 ried," whispered one boy, and the other giggled. 
 
 " Silence ! " cried Narayan Chand fussily. 
 " Govind Sahai, your name is first for vivd. 
 
328 AMOR VINCIT OMNIA 
 
 Come up, Govind Sahai, Kyasth." Then, as the 
 dull yet anxious face passed him, he whispered : 
 " Now for value of light literature. You are best 
 at colloquial, my pupil, so courage, and remember 
 Afnor Vincit Omnia and such like things." 
 
 Amor Vincit Omnia ! The boy's last chance 
 fled before those words. When the ordeal was 
 over, he turned back to his place mechanically. 
 As he passed the master-y^* once more, he read his 
 fate in the disappointed face raised to his, then 
 in tlie confident smile of the boy succeeding him, 
 finally in the surprised nudging of the whole class. 
 Something seemed to snap in his brain ; he paused, 
 and, facing the examiners, raised his hand. The 
 rush of thought was too much for him at first ; then 
 he broke silence in a gentle, deprecating voice : 
 
 " If you will be kind enough to excuse me, 
 Sirs, I will beg leave to retire. Tlie exigencies of 
 the case forbid explanation, but this much is ad- 
 mitted — that Amor vincit omniay 
 
 " That boy speaks better English than I thought 
 for," said one examiner to the other, when the 
 leave had been granted. " Give him five marks 
 more ; he's failed, of course, but it's as well to 
 be just." 
 
 When Govind reached home Nihali's arms were 
 empty. There is no need to say more. It Avas 
 an unnecessary infant to all save those two. 
 
AMOR VINCIT OMNIA 329 
 
 "You have failed, failed badly, my poor pupil, 
 owing, doubtless, to domestic bereavement," said 
 the master-y/, when he called a week or two later 
 full of vexed sympathy. " Such circumstances 
 point to special privilege of entering again next 
 year, for which we will apply. And then, Govind, 
 there must be no killing of birds with one stone. 
 There must be no complicated states of mind, 
 confusing idiom." 
 
 But Govind Sahai, Kyasth, did not avail him- 
 self of the permission duly given, as the pundit-yi 
 put it, "in consideration of the strictly non- 
 regulation death of his infant at a premature 
 age." 
 
 The old grandfather, whose small life-pension 
 had been the prop of the household, died of au- 
 tumnal fever, and during the ensuing winter the 
 result of his failure to win the scholarship came 
 home to Govind with depressing force, since even 
 from that poor ten rupees a month something 
 might have been spared to stand between those 
 three fond women and the grindstone, that last 
 resort of poverty. Then Nihali's mother, coming 
 over unexpectedly and finding her daughter at the 
 mill, carried her off in a huff. This time Govind 
 said nothing; the spirit had gone out of him, and 
 for the girl's own sake he gave in to custom. 
 He worked very hard, but as the winter advanced 
 
330 AMOR VINCIT OMNIA 
 
 liis shoulders seemed to grow narrower and nar- 
 rower, and the teashig cough became louder. 
 Good food, care, and rest might have done some- 
 thing perhaps ; only perhaps, for there is not 
 much to be done when the candle of life is alight 
 at both ends, except to put it out. That is Avhat 
 happened one April morning when the bougain- 
 villea round the arched verandah of the library 
 looked like a crimson drapery. He used to go 
 there every morning before school hours, for the 
 memory of his failure in viva voce rankled keenly, 
 and he was possessed by a curious determination 
 to prove Master Narayan Chand wrong in attrib- 
 uting it to Govind's unwise selection of books. 
 So, secure at those hours from interruption, he 
 used to sit and study the idiom of light literature. 
 
 " Thou art not fit to go," said his mother tear- 
 fully one morning after the boy had been kept 
 awake all night by cough and fever. 
 
 *' Reading will not hurt me, amma jan^"" he re- 
 plied, "and the examination is next month." 
 
 They found him two hours afterwards seated 
 at tlie desk before the ledger, his head resting 
 on a novel he had just been entering in the regis- 
 ter. A horrible stain of blood from the blood- 
 vessel he had ruptured blotted the page, but through 
 it you could still see, in his bold handwriting : 
 Amor Vinclt Omnia. Govind Sahai, Kyasth. 
 
THE WINGS OF A DOVE 
 
 A TALL lanky boy of about seventeen sat half- 
 way down the great flight of steps at the eastern 
 entrance of the Jumma Mosque at Delhi, looking 
 anxiously at a cage full of avitovats, twinkling lit- 
 tle brown birds with a suspicion of red amid their 
 brown ; flitting, slender, silent little birds, never 
 still for a second. He looked at them half-satis- 
 fied, half-doubtful, and as he looked he turned a 
 four-anna bit over and over in his brown fingers. 
 For though he was dressed as a European his 
 complexion was as dark as that of most high-caste 
 natives, and darker by a good bit than that of a 
 girl some one or two years his junior, who sat 
 fondling a pigeon on a higher step, and looking 
 askance, also, at the avitovats. 
 
 " The Huzoor can have them for five annas if 
 
 he chooses," said the evil-looking bird-catcher who 
 
 was squatting among his wares. Though he used 
 
 the honorific title, his manner was absolutely de- 
 
 1 Copyright, 1896, by Macmillan & Co. 
 
 331 
 
332 THE WINGS OF A DOVE 
 
 void of courtesy, and he turned without the least 
 change in it to address a friend in the parrot line, 
 who sat with his cages on the step above. For 
 this particular flight of steps is set apart to the 
 selling of birds, especially after prayer- time on Fri- 
 days, Avhen the pigeon-racers and quail-fighters buy 
 and bet in the wide portico of rosy stone and pale 
 marble. The avitovats — having no value to the 
 sportsman — commanded but a slack sale, so the 
 boy had plenty of time in which to make up his 
 mind ; to judge by appearances a difficult task, 
 for his face was undeniably weak, though hand- 
 some, kindly, and soft. He wore a white drill 
 suit, clean, but sadly frayed ; and his grey Avide- 
 awake was many sizes too large for his small head. 
 Perhaps it was the knowledge of this, combined 
 with a vague suspicion that the hat knew quite 
 as much about bird-fancying as the head within 
 it, which made him, in his perplexity, take it off, 
 place it on his slack knees and drop the four-anna 
 piece into it, as if it had better decide the ques- 
 tion. Sitting so, with bare head, he looked hand- 
 somer than ever, for its shape was that of a young 
 Adonis. It was, in fact, the only thing about him, 
 or his life, whicli corresponded with his name, 
 Agamemnon Menelaus. The surname, Gibbs, used 
 after those eight resounding syllables to come as 
 a shock to the various chaplains who at various 
 
THE WINGS OP A DOVE 333 
 
 times liad undertaken to look after young Gibbs 
 spiritual welfare. Some of them, the more experi- 
 enced ones, acquiesced in that and many another 
 anomaly after their first glance at his soft gentle 
 face ; for it Avas typical of that class of Eurasian 
 which makes the soul of a chaplain sink within 
 him. Others reached the same conclusion after a 
 reference to the mother, Mrs. Gibbs. She was a 
 very dark, pious woman, tearfully uncertain of all 
 things save that she, being a widow, must be sup- 
 ported b}^ charity ; by the offertory for preference. 
 She, however, made the problem of his name less 
 intrusive by calling him Aggie as if he had been 
 a girl. 
 
 "They are young birds, as the Hiizoor could 
 see for himself if he had eyes," went on the bird- 
 catcher with a yawn. " Next moulting they will 
 be as red as a initti seed. But it is five annas, 
 not four." 
 
 Aggie had no lack of eyes outwardly ; they were 
 large and soft as velvet, and as they looked down 
 at the avitovats showed a thick fringe of curling 
 lashes. But there was an almost pathetic guileless- 
 ness in them, and one brown hand hesitated about 
 his breast-pocket. He had another anna there, part 
 of a monthly stipend of one rupee for attending 
 the choir, which he had intended to spend on 
 sweets — preserved pumpkins for choice ; but the 
 
334 THE WINGS OF A DOVE 
 
 avitovats, with their promise of scarlet phimage, 
 cozened his indolent, colour-loving eyes almost as 
 much as the thought of the sweets did his palate. 
 Should he, should he not? The mere sight of the 
 birds was a strong point in their favour, and his 
 hand had sought the inside of his pocket when 
 a whisper met his ear. 
 
 " Hens ! " 
 
 It was unmistakable, and he turned to look at 
 the girl behind him. She was sitting on her heels, 
 crunched up chin and knees, holding her pigeon close 
 to her face as if to hide it. And as he turned she 
 sidled further away along the step wdth the curious 
 gliding shuffle peculiar to native girls and pigeons. 
 '^ Ka-boo-tri, ka-hoo-tri^ ha-hoo-tri^'" gurgled the pig- 
 eon, as if pleased at the motion. It was a blue- 
 rock, showing a purple and green iridescence on 
 the breast, and the girl's dress matched its colour- 
 ings exactly ; for her ragged cotton skirt had 
 washed and worn to a dark neutral tint, and the 
 shot-silk bodice, tattered and torn, with tarnished 
 gold embroidery on its front, took gleams of a 
 past glory from the sunlight. Her veil had faded 
 in its folds to a sort of cinnamon brown, touched 
 with blue, and both it and the bodice were many 
 sizes too large for her slight childish figure. 
 
 ''If the JIuzoor is not to buy, let him give place 
 to those who will," suggested the bird-catcher 
 
THE WINGS OF A DOVE 335 
 
 cavalierly. He had been too far to catch the whisper, 
 and thought to clinch the bargain by a threat. 
 
 Agamemnon Menelaus looked at him nervously. 
 "Are you sure they are young birds?" he sug- 
 gested timidly. " They might, — they might be 
 hens, you know." There was a half -perceptible 
 quiver of his handsome head as if to watch the 
 girl. The bird-catcher broke out into violent assev- 
 eration^^ and Aggie's hand, out of sheer trepida- 
 tion, went into his pocket again. 
 
 " Hens I " 
 
 This time there was a ring almost of command in 
 the tone, and Agamemnon obeyed it instinctively 
 by rising to go. " Ka-hoo-tri, ka-hoo-tri,'" came the 
 gurgle of the pigeon ; or was it partly a chuckle from 
 the girl as she sidled still further along the step? 
 
 " So ! that is good riddance," said the bird- 
 catcher to the parrot-seller, angrily. " God made 
 the rainbow, but the devil made the dye-pot ! Yet 
 I thought I had sold them at last. He looked 
 not so sharp as that." 
 
 The parrot-seller yawned. "'Twas Kabootri did 
 it," he remarked with bland indifference. " She 
 said 'hens.' " 
 
 The bird-catcher stared at him incredulously, 
 then passed the look on to the girl Avho still sat 
 Avith the crooning pigeon held close to her face. 
 
 " Kabootri ? " he echoed with an uneasy laugh. 
 
336 THE WINGS OF A DOVE 
 
 " Nay, neighbour, 'twas she who told me but an 
 hour ago that if I sold not something this Friday 
 she would kill herself. 'Tis a trick of words she 
 hath learned of her trade," he went on with a 
 curious mixture of anger and approbation. '' But 
 it means something to a man who hath cursed 
 luck and a daughter who has a rare knack of 
 getting her own way." 
 
 The parrot-seller gave a pull at a bulbul-seller's 
 pipe as if it were his own. " Thou wilt be dis- 
 graced if thou give it her much longer, friend," 
 he said calmly. " 'Tis time she Avere limed and 
 netted. And with no mother either to whack 
 her ! " 
 
 The uneasy laugh came again. " If the Nawab's 
 pigeon wins we may see to a son-in-law ; but she 
 is a child still, neighbour, and a good daughter 
 too, helping her father more than he helps her." 
 There was a touch of real pride in his tone. 
 
 " She said ' hens,' " retorted the parrot-seller. 
 " Ask her if she did not." 
 
 " Kabootri I Kabootri ! " 
 
 The call was a trifle tremulous, but the girl rose 
 with alacrity, throwing the pigeon into the air 
 with the deft hand of a practised racer as she 
 did so. The bird was practised also, and without 
 a flutter flew off into the blue like an arrow from 
 a bow ; then, as if confused by finding itself with- 
 
THE WINGS OF A DOVE 337 
 
 out a rival, wheeled circling round the rose-red 
 pile till it settled on one of the marble cupolas. 
 
 '' What is 't, father ? " she asked, standing on 
 the upper steps and looking down on the two 
 men. She was wonderfully fair, with a little 
 pointed chin, and a wide firm mouth curiously 
 at variance with it, as were the big, broad, 
 black eyebrows with the liquid softness of her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Why didst say ' hens,' Kabootri ? " replied 
 her father, assuming the fact as the best way of 
 discovering the truth, since her anger at unjust 
 suspicion was always prompt. 
 
 " Why ? " she echoed absently. " Why ? " Then 
 suddenly she smiled. " I don't know, father ; but 
 I did ! " 
 
 The bird-catcher broke out into useless oaths. 
 His daughter had the dove's name, but Avas no 
 better than a peacock, a peacock in a thief's house ; 
 she had lost him five annas for nothing. 
 
 Kabootri's eyebrows looked ominous. ''Five 
 annas ! Fret not for five annas ! " she echoed scorn- 
 fully, turning on her heels towards the gateway; 
 and flinging out her arms she began the pigeon's 
 note — the pigeon's name and her own — '' Ka-hoo-tri, 
 ha-hoo-tri, ka-hoo-tri ! " It was as if a bird were call- 
 ing to its mate, and the answer came quickly in the 
 soft whir of many wings as the blue-rocks, which 
 
338 THE WINGS OF A DOVE 
 
 live among the rose-red battlements and marble 
 cupolas, wheeled down in lessening circles. 
 
 " Lo I there is Kabootri calling the pigeons," re- 
 marked an old gentleman, who was crossing city- 
 wards from the Fort ; a stoutish gentleman, clothed 
 immaculately in filmy white muslin with a pale 
 pink inner turban folded across his forehead and 
 showing triangularly beneath the white outer one. 
 He was one of the richest bankers in Delhi ; by 
 religion a Jain, the sect to whom the destruction 
 of life is the one unpardonable sin, and he gave 
 a nervous glance at the distant figure on the steps. 
 
 " Nay I partner, she was in our street last 
 week," put in his companion, who was dressed 
 in similar fashion ; '' and Kabootri is not as the 
 boys, who are ever at one, with sparrows, for a 
 pice or two. She hath business in her, and a 
 right feeling. She takes once and hath done with 
 it till the value is paid. The gift of the old 
 bodice and shawl, which my house gave her, kept 
 us free for six months. Still, if thou art afraid, 
 we can go round a bit." 
 
 Kabootri from her coign of vantage saw them 
 sneaking off the main road, and smiled at their 
 caution contemptuously ; but what they had said 
 was true, she had business in her, and right feel- 
 ing. It was not their turn to pay ; so, cuddling 
 a captured pigeon to her breast, she set off in an 
 
THE WINGS OF A DOVE 339 
 
 opposite direction, threading the bazaars and alleys 
 unerringly, and every now and again crooning her 
 own name softly to the bird which, without a 
 struggle, watched her with its onyx eyes, and 
 called to her again. 
 
 " There is Kabootri vvdth a pigeon," remarked 
 the drug-seller at the corner to his clients, the 
 leisurely folk with ailments who sit and suggest 
 sherbets to each other, and go away finally to con- 
 sult a soothsayer for a suitable day on which to 
 take their little screw or phial of medicine. " She 
 will be going to Sri Parasnatlrs. It is a while 
 since she was there, and Kabootri is just, for a 
 bird-slayer." 
 
 Apparently he was right as to her purpose ; for 
 at the turn leading to Sri Parasnath's place of 
 business, she sat down on a step, and after a pre- 
 liminary caress fastened a string deftly to one of 
 the pigeon's feet. Then she caressed it again, 
 stroking its head and crooning to it. Finally with 
 a bound she started to her feet, flang it from her 
 to flutter forlornly in the air, her level black eye- 
 brows bent themselves downwards into a portentous 
 frown, and her young.voice rang out shrilly, almost 
 savagely, '•'-Yahee^ choori-ydh-mdr. Aihee^ clioori-ydli- 
 mdr ! (Hillo I the bird-slayer ! Hullo ! the bird- 
 slayer !) " 
 
 "Look out, brother," said a fat old merchant in 
 
340 THE WINGS OF A DOYE 
 
 sjDectacles, who was poring over a ledger in the 
 wooden balcony of an old house. " Look out and 
 see who 'tis. If 'tis Kabootri, thou canst take 
 eight annas from the box. She will not loose the 
 bird for less ; but if 'tis a boy with sparrows, wait 
 and bargain." 
 
 It was Kabootri, no doubt. Who else but she 
 came like a young tiger-cat down the lane, star- 
 tling the shadowy silence with strange savage 
 threats ? Who but she came like a young Bac- 
 chante, dancing with fury, showing her small white 
 teeth, and, apparently, dragging her poor victim 
 by one leg, or whirling it cruelly round her on a 
 string, so that its fluttering wings seemed like her 
 fluttering veil ? " Give ! Ai, followers of Rishaba, 
 give, or I kill I Ai, Jain people, give, or I take 
 life ! " 
 
 Sri Parasnath put his turbanless bald head with 
 its odd little tuft of a pigtail over the balcony, 
 and concealing his certainty under a very credit- 
 able show of dismay, called down curses solemnly 
 on her head. He would send for the police ; he 
 would have her locked up and fined. She might 
 take the bird and kill it before his very eyes if 
 she chose, but he would not pay a j^^Ve for its 
 freedom. To all of which Kabootri replied with 
 a fresh method of doing the victim to death. She 
 played her part with infinite spirit, but her antago- 
 
THE WINGS OF A DOVE 341 
 
 nist was in a hurry to get some orders for Man- 
 chester goods off in time for the English mail, so 
 his performance was but half-hearted, and ere she 
 had well begun her list of horrors, the eight-anna 
 bit came clinking down on the brick pavement, 
 and she, as in duty bound, had to squat beside it 
 and loosen the string from the pigeon's leg. As 
 usual she had to drive it from settling on her 
 head or shoulders by wild antics, until it fluttered 
 to a neighbouring roof, where it sidled along the 
 copings with bright eyes watching her and soft 
 cooings of " ka-hoo-tri^ ka-hoo-tri ! " 
 
 Once beyond Jain eyes, she always gave back 
 the call so as to assure lierself that no harm had 
 been done. This time by some mischance there 
 happened to be a broken feather in the wing, and 
 her lips set themselves over the task of pulling it 
 out ; that being a necessity to even flight. After 
 which, came renewed caresses with a passion in 
 them beyond the occasion ; for indeed the passion 
 in Kabootri was altogether beyond the necessities 
 of her life — as yet. True, it was not always such 
 plain sailing as it had been with Sri Parasnath. 
 Newcomers there were, even old customers striving 
 in modern fashion to shake themselves free from 
 such deliberate blackmailing, who needed to be re- 
 minded of her methods ; methods ending in pas- 
 sionate tears over her own cruelty in the first quiet 
 
342 THE WINGS OF A DOVE 
 
 spot she could reach. But of late years she had 
 grown cunning in the avoidance of irretrievable 
 injury. A dexterous slipping of the cord would 
 leave her captive free, and she herself at liberty 
 to go round to some poultry-seller and borrow a 
 poor fowl under sentence of death, with which she 
 would return to unflinching execution. These 
 things had to be, and her young face would be 
 like a Medea's as she did the deed. But even 
 this was of the past, since folk had begun to 
 recognise the uselessness of driving the girl to ex- 
 tremities. Thus her threat, ''I will kill, I will 
 kill ! " brought at most but a broken feather in a 
 dove's wing, and a passionate cuddling of the vic- 
 tim to her breast. 
 
 This one was interrupted brusquely by a ques- 
 tion : 
 
 ''Why did you say hens?" 
 
 It was Aggie. He happened to live close by 
 in a tumble-down tenement Avith two square yards 
 of verandah, which were the mainstay of Mrs. 
 Gibbs' position. They, and the necessity for black- 
 ing Agamemnon Menelaus' boots when he went to 
 the choir, separated her effectually and irrevocably 
 from her native neighbours. He did not sing 
 i^ow, — his voice had begun to crack, — but he 
 looked well in a surplice, and the chaplain knew 
 he would have to pay the monthly stipend in any 
 
THE WINGS OF A DOVE 343 
 
 case. So, this being Friday, Aggie was on his 
 Avay to evensong, polished boots and all ; they 
 were really the strongest barrier between him and 
 the tall girl with her pretty bare feet who stood 
 up to face him, with a soft, per[)lexed look in the 
 eyes which were so like his in all but expression ; 
 and even that merged into his in its softness and 
 perplexity. 
 
 " Because, — because they ivere hens," she said 
 with an odd little tremble in her voice. 
 
 So the two young things stood looking at each 
 other, while the pigeon gurgled and cooed : " Ka- 
 hoo-tri^ ka-hoo-tri^ ka-hootri.^'' 
 
 II 
 
 " So, seest thou, Kabootri, thou wilt turn Chris- 
 tian and then I will marry thee." Aggie's out- 
 look on the future went so far, and left the rest 
 to Providence ; the girl's went further. 
 
 "2Vra/" she commented. ''That is fool's talk. 
 I am a bird-slayer : how could we live without the 
 pigeons and the mosque? Thou hast no money." 
 
 They were sitting on the flight of steps once 
 more, with a cage full of scarlet avitovats between 
 them, so that the passers-by could not see the 
 hands that were locked in each other behind the 
 cage. 
 
 " Then I will marry thee, and become a heathen," 
 
344 THE WINGS OF A DOVE 
 
 amended Agamemnon, giving a squeeze to what lie 
 held. She smiled, and the soft curves of her chin 
 seemed to melt into those of her long throat, as 
 she hung her head and looked at him as if he were 
 the most beautiful thing in her world. '' That is 
 wiser," she said, "and if thou dost not marry me 
 I will kill myself. So that is settled." He gave 
 another squeeze to her hand, and she smiled again. 
 Then they sat gazing at each other across the 
 avitovats, hand in hand like a couple of children ; 
 for there was guilelessness in his eyes and inno- 
 cence in hers. 
 
 " Lo ! " she said suddenly. " I know not now 
 why I said 'hens.' " She paused, failing to find her 
 own meaning, and so came back to more practical 
 matters. "Thou hadst best be buying the birds, 
 Aga-Meean^ [for so, to suit her estimate of him, 
 she had chosen to amend his name], or folk Avill 
 wonder. And if thou wilt leave them in the old 
 place in the Queen's Gardens I will fetch them 
 away, and thou canst buy them of me again next 
 Friday." 
 
 There was no cunning in her manner, only a 
 solid grasp on the exigencies of the position. Had 
 he not a mother living in a house with a verandah, 
 and was not her father a bird-seller ? Was lie not 
 at that moment betting on the NaAvab's coming 
 1 Aga, noble ; Meean, prince. 
 
THE WINGS OF A DOVE 345 
 
 pigeon-race on the platform above them? Despite 
 these exigencies, however, the past three weeks had 
 been pleasant ; if Aggie was still rather hazy as to 
 the difference between young cocks and old hens, 
 it was from no lack of experience in the buying of 
 avitovats. Kabootri used to give him the money 
 wherewith to buy them, and leave it again in the 
 hiding-place where she found the birds; so it was 
 not an expensive amusement to either of them. 
 And if Agamemnon Menelaus had not grasped the 
 determination which underlay the girl's threats of 
 taking life it was from no lack of hearing them, 
 ay, and of shivering at them. The savage, reckless 
 young figure, startling the sunshine and shadow of 
 the narrow lanes with its shrill cry, " I will kill, 
 I will kill, yea, I will take life I " had filled him 
 with a sort of proud bewilderment, a sacred admi- 
 ration. And other things had brought the same 
 dizzy content with them. That same figure, sidling 
 along the rose-red copings like any pigeon, to gain 
 the marble cupolas where the young birds were 
 to be found, — those young birds which must be 
 taught betimes to play her game of Life and 
 Death, as all her world must be taught to play it, 
 — was fascinating. It was disturbing when it sat 
 close to him" in the Queen's Gardens, eating rose 
 comfits bought out of the blood-money, and cooing 
 to him like any dove, while the pigeons in the 
 
346 THE AVINGS OF A DOVE 
 
 trees above it called ^^ Ka-boo-triy ka-hoo-tri^'^ as if 
 tliey were jealous. 
 
 The outcome of it all, however, was, as yet, no 
 more than the discarding of boots in favour of 
 native shoes, and the supplanting of the grey wide- 
 awake by a white and gold saucer-cap which only 
 cost four annas, and lay on the dark waves of the 
 lad's small head as if it had been made for it. 
 Kabootri clasped her hands tight in sheer admira- 
 tion as she watched him go down the steps with 
 the cage of scarlet avitovats ; but Mrs. Gibbs, 
 while admitting the superlative beauty of tlie com- 
 bination, burst into floods of lamentation at the 
 siglit, for it was a symptom she had seen often in 
 lads of Aggie's age. His elder brother had begun 
 that way ; that elder brother who was now a thorn 
 in the side of every chaplain from Peshaw^ur to 
 Calcutta by reason of his disconcerting desire to 
 live as a heathen and be saved as a Christian. 
 
 So, when Aggie, with a spark of unusual spirit, 
 liad refused to put on the boots which she had 
 made the servant (for, of course, there had to be 
 a servant in a house with a verandah) black with 
 the greatest care ; in other words, when he had 
 refused to go to church, since native shoes and a 
 Delhi cap are manifestly incompatible with a sur- 
 plice, she went over to a bosom friend and wept 
 again. But Mrs. Rosario was of a different type 
 
THE WINGS OF A DOVE 347 
 
 altogether. She seldom wept, taking life with a 
 pure philosophy, and making her living out of her 
 handsome daughters by marrying them off to the 
 first comer on the chance of his doing well. 
 
 " There is no — need — to cry," she said com- 
 fortably, in the curious IvdU-staccato, hal^-legato in- 
 tonation of her race. "Your boy is — no — worse 
 than all boys. If they do not get — on — a 
 place or get married they fall — into mischief. 
 God made them — so, and we must bow to — His 
 will, as we are Christians and not heathen. And 
 girls are — like — that too. If they — do — not — 
 get — married they will give trouble. So, if you 
 ask my — advice, I say that if — you — cannot — 
 get your poor boy on — a — place you had better 
 get — him — a — wife, or the bad black woman in 
 the bazaar will — lead — him — to bad ways ; for 
 he is a handsome boy, almost as handsome as my 
 Lily. He is too young, perhaps, and she — is — too 
 
 — young — too, but if you like he can beau my 
 Lily. You can ask some — one — for — clothes, 
 and then he can beau Lily to the choir. And 
 give a little hop in your place, Mrs. Gibbs. When 
 my girls try me I give hops. It makes them all 
 
 — right, and your boy — will — be — all — right 
 
 — too. You live too quiet, Mrs. Gibbs, for young 
 folk ; they will have some pleasure. So get your 
 son nice new clothes, and I — will — give — 
 
848 THE WINGS OF A DOVE 
 
 a — hop at my place, and send my cook to help 
 yours." 
 
 This solid sense caused Mrs. Gibbs to lie in wait 
 for the chaplain in his verandah, armed with a 
 coarse cotton handkerchief soaked in patchouli, and 
 an assertion that Aggie's absence from the choir 
 was due to unsuitable clothes. And both tears 
 and scent being unbearable, she went back with 
 quite a large bundle of garments which had be- 
 longed to a merr}^ English boy who had come out 
 to join his parents, only to die of enteric fever. 
 " Give them away in charity, my dear," the father 
 had said in a hard voice, " the boy would have 
 liked it so best himself." So the mother, with 
 hopeless tears over the scarce-worn things, had sent 
 them over to the chaplain for his poor. 
 
 Thus it happened that before Kabootri had re- 
 covered from her intense delight at the cap, Mrs. 
 Gibbs was laying out a beautiful suit, cut to the 
 latest fashion, to await Aggie's return from one 
 of those absences which had become so alarmingly 
 frequent. There was a brand-new red tie, also a 
 pair of lavender gloves, striped socks, and patent- 
 leather pumps. To crown all, there was a note on 
 highly scented paper with an L on it in lilies of the 
 valley, in which Mrs. Rosario and her daughters 
 requested the pleasure of Mr. Agamemnon ^lenelaus 
 Gibbs' company at a hop that evening. What more 
 
THE WINGS OF A DOVE 349 
 
 could a young man like Aggie want for his re- 
 generation ? Nothing apparently : it was impos- 
 sible, for instance, to think of sitting on the steps 
 with Kabootri in a suit made by an English tailor, 
 a tall hat, and a pair of lavender kid gloves. Yet 
 the fine feathers had to be worn when, in obedience 
 to the R.S.V.P. in the corner of the scented note, 
 he had to take over a reply in which Mr. Aga- 
 mejnnon Menelaus Gibbs accepted with jjleasure, 
 etc., etc. 
 
 " Oh, mamma ! " said Miss Lily, who received 
 the note in person with a giggle of admiration, 
 ''I do like him; he is quite the gentleman." The 
 remark, being made before its object had left the 
 tiny courtyard, which the Rosarios dignified by 
 the name of compound, was quite audible, and a 
 shy smile of conscious vanity overspread the lad's 
 handsome face. 
 
 About the same time, that is to say when the 
 sinking sun, still gloriously bright, had hidden itself 
 behind the vast pile of the mosque so that it stood 
 out in pale purple shadow against a background 
 of sheer sunlight, Kabootri was curled up on a 
 cornice with her back to one of the carven pilasters 
 of a cupola, dreaming idly of Aga-Meean in his 
 white and gold cap. He had not been to the 
 steps that day, so from her airy perch she was 
 keeping a watch for him ; and as she watched, 
 
350 THE WINGS OF A DOVE 
 
 lier clasp on the pigeon she was caressing tightened 
 unconsciously, till with a croon and a flutter it 
 struggled for freedom. The sound brought other 
 wings to wheel round the girl expectantly, for it 
 was near the time for the birds' evening meal. 
 Sharafat-Nissa, the old canoness Avho lived on the 
 roof below the marble cupolas, had charge of 
 the store of grain set apart for the purpose by 
 the guardians of the mosque ; but as a rule Kabootri 
 fed the pigeons. She did many such an odd job 
 for the queer little cripple, half pensioner, half 
 saint, who kept a Koran class for poor girls 
 and combined it with a sort of matrimonial 
 agency ; for the due providing of suitable hus- 
 bands to girls who have no relations to see 
 after such things is a meritorious act of piety; a 
 lucrative one also, when, as in Sharafat-Nissa's case 
 you belong to a good family, and have a large con- 
 nection in houses where a good-looking maiden is 
 always in request as an extra wife. So, as she 
 taught the Holy Book, her keen little eyes were 
 always on the alert for a possible bride. They had 
 been on Kabootri for a long time ; hitherto, how- 
 ever, that idle, disreputable father downstairs had 
 managed to evade the old canoness. But now that 
 the great pigeon-race of the year was being decided 
 on the grassy plain between the mosque and the 
 Fort, his last excuse would be gone ; for he had 
 
THE WINGS OF A DOVE 351 
 
 all but promised that, if he lost, Sharafat-Nissa 
 should arrange the sale of the girl into some rich 
 house, while if he won he had promised himself 
 to give Kabootri, who in his way he really liked, 
 a strapping young husband fit to please any girl ; 
 one who, being of her own caste, would allow her 
 the freedom which she loved even as the birds 
 loved it. 
 
 She, however, knew nothing of this compact. 
 So when the great shout telling of victory went 
 up from tlie packed multitude on the plain, she 
 only wondered with a smile if her father would 
 be swaggering about with money to jingle in his 
 pocket, or if she would have to cry, " I will kill, 
 I will kill," a little oftener than usual. Sharafat- 
 Nissa heard the shout also, and, as she rocked 
 backwards and forwards over her evening chant 
 of the Holy Book, gave a covetous upward glance 
 at the slender figure she could just see among 
 the wings of the doves. Downstairs among the 
 packed multitudes, the shout Avhich told him of 
 defeat made the bird-catcher also, reprobate as 
 he was, look up swiftly to the great gateway 
 which was fast deepening to purple as the sun 
 behind it dipped closer to the horizon ; for one 
 could always tell where Kabootri was by the wheel- 
 ing wings. 
 
 " Have a care I " he said fiercely to the dis- 
 
352 THE WINGS OF A DOVE 
 
 creetly-veiled figure that evening as it sat behind 
 the narrow slit of a door blocking the narrow 
 stair, which Kabootri trod so often on her way 
 to and from the roof. " Have a care, sister ! She 
 is not easily limed or netted." A sort of giggle 
 came from the veil. " Yea, brother ! Girls are all 
 so, but if the cage is gilt " 
 
 It was just a week after this, and the sunlight 
 behind the shadow of the mosque was revelling 
 in sheeny iridescence of her tattered silk bodice, 
 that Kabootri's figure showed clear and defiant 
 against the sky, as she stood on the uppermost, 
 outermost coping of the gateway. There was a 
 sheer fall beneath her to the platform below. She 
 had just escaped from tlie room where she had 
 been caged like any bird for three whole days, 
 and the canoness on the roof below was looking 
 up at her prisoner helplessl}^ 
 
 " Listen, my pigeon, my beloved I " she wheedled 
 breathlessly. " Come down, and let us talk it 
 over together." 
 
 " Open the door, I say," came the shrill young 
 voice. " Open, or I kill myself I Open, or I 
 kill I " 
 
 " Heart's blood ! Listen ! He shall be a young 
 man, a handsome man." 
 
 Handsome, young ! Was not Aga-Meean young ? 
 Was he not handsome? The thought made her 
 
THE WINGS OF A DOVE 353 
 
 voice shriller, clearer. " Open the door, or I kill ! 
 Open, or I take life ! " The words were the 
 words of the young tiger-cat that had been wont 
 to startle the sunshine and the shadow, making 
 Sri Parasnath seek his cash-box incontinently ; 
 but there was a new note of appeal in their deter- 
 mination ; for if it was but three days since she 
 had been caged, it was six since she had seen 
 Aga-Meean. What had become of him? Had 
 he sought and missed her? Had he not? 
 
 " Listen, my bird," came the wheedling voice ; 
 "come down and listen. Kabootri ! I swear that 
 if thou likest not this one I will let thee go and 
 seek another. I swear it, child." 
 
 The sidling feet edged nearer along the coping, 
 for this respite would at least give time. " Swear 
 it on the Holy Book. So — in thy right hand and 
 in thy left. Let me see it." She stretched her 
 own hands out over the depths, and at the sight 
 the expectant pigeons came wheeling round her. 
 
 " I swear by God and His prophet," began the 
 old canoness, gabbling as fast as she could over 
 the oath ; but above her breathless mumble came 
 a little shriek, a little giggle, and a girl's voice 
 from below. " Ah, Mr. Gibbs I You are so 
 naughty, so very naughty ! " 
 
 Kabootri could not understand the words, but the 
 giggle belongs to all tongues, and it jarred upon 
 
354 THE WINGS OF A DOVE 
 
 her passion, her despair. She looked down, and 
 saw a well-known figure, changed utterly by a 
 familiar, yet unfamiliar, dress. She saw two girls 
 about her own age, with tiny waists, huge sleeves, 
 and hats. It was Aga-Meean, escorting the two 
 Miss Rosarios, who had expressed a desire to see 
 the mosque. And she saw something else ; she saw 
 the look which the prettiest of the two girls gave 
 to Aga-Meean ; she saw the look he gave in return. 
 Her sidling feet paused; she swayed giddily. 
 
 '' Kabootri ! Kabootri ! " called the woman on 
 the roof, eagerly, anxiously, "I have sworn it. 
 Come down, my pigeon, come down, my dove ! 
 It makes me dizzy." 
 
 So that was Aga-Meean ! The mistress said 
 sooth; the wings made one dizzy, the wings, — 
 the wings of a dove ! 
 
 She had them ! For the wind caught the wide 
 folds of her veil, and claimed a place in the wide, 
 fluttering sheen of her bodice, as she fell, and 
 fell, and fell, down from the marble cupolas, past 
 the purple shadow of the great gateway, to the 
 wide platform where the doves are bought and 
 sold. And some of the pigeons followed lier, and 
 some sat sidling on _the coping, calling " Ka-hoo-tri^ 
 ka-hoo-tri.'' But those of them who knew her 
 best fled affrighted into the golden halo of sun- 
 shine behind the rose-red pile. 
 
THE SWIMMERS^ 
 
 " Miriam, Miriam, what is it ? Canst thou not 
 tell a body, bound to a millstone as I ? Thy 
 tongue goes fast enough when I wish thee silent ! " 
 It was a Avoman's voice that was beginning to lose 
 its fulness and sweetness, in other words, its 
 womanliness, which called up from the courtyard, 
 where the hum of the quern grinding the yellow 
 Indian corn deadened all other sounds. 
 
 '^ It is naught, mother ! Only Hussan and Husayn 
 once more." It was a woman's voice also from the 
 roof where the Indian corn was drying to a richer 
 gold in the sunlight; but it was a voice which 
 had hardly come as yet to its full roundness, in 
 other words, to its perfect womanliness. 
 
 " Hussan and Husayn ! What makes them be 
 for ever fighting like young cocks ? " 
 
 There was an instant's pause ; then the voice 
 from the roof came piously, " God knows ! " 
 
 Probably He did, but Miriam herself might have 
 been less modest as to her knowledge. For the 
 
 1 Copyright, 1895, by Macmillan & Co. 
 365 
 
356 THE SWIMMERS 
 
 case stood thus. It was a corner house between 
 two sequestered alleys which intersected each other 
 at right angles, and there had been a lingering 
 lover, expectant of some recognition, in each alley. 
 Now, if half-a-handful of golden corn be thrown 
 as a guerdon over the parapet just at the angle, 
 and if the lovers, hot-blooded young sparks, spring 
 forward incontinently to pick up the precious grains 
 and meet, then 
 
 " Indeed, mother, they were very like cocks," re- 
 marked Miriam gravely, as she stepped daintily 
 down the narrow mud-stairs again to resume her 
 spinning in the courtyard. Once more she spoke 
 truth, but hardly the whole truth ; since when 
 featherless bipeds are picking up grains of corn 
 out of a gutter, they can hardly avoid a resem- 
 blance to feathered ones. 
 
 So the whir of the wheel joined the hum of the 
 quern, and both formed a background to her sudden 
 girlish laugh at the recollection of what she had 
 seen through the peep-hole in the parapet. 
 
 The whole thing was a play to this Osmanzai 
 girl, who, for all her seclusion, knew perfectly well 
 that she was the beauty of the village, and that 
 many another spark besides Hussan and Husayn 
 would be only too glad of half-a-handful of Indian 
 corn to pick up out of the gutter. But these two 
 being the most expert swimmers in that quaint 
 
THE SWIMMERS 357 
 
 bare colony of huts set on a loose shale slope with 
 the wild wicked rush of the Indus at its foot, were, 
 perhaps, the most interesting. That is to say, if 
 you excepted Khasia, the big soft shepherd who 
 came down sometimes from the grassy, fir-crowned 
 slopes higher up the gorge ; the Maha-ban or Great 
 Forest Hills, beyond which lay the Black Mountain. 
 A strange wild country, is this of the Indus 
 gorge, just as the great river begins to think of 
 the level plains in front of it. A strange wild 
 people are those who live in that close-packed, flat- 
 roofed village upon the shale slope, where a foot- 
 fall sends the thin leaves of mica-schist slithering 
 aAvay into the rushing river.. There is no stranger 
 country, no wilder people. For this is Sitana, the 
 place of refuge for every Mohammedan fanatic who 
 finds the more civilised plains too hot even for his 
 fiery faith ; Sitana, the dwelling-place of the Syyuds 
 who, since the days of their great leader Ahmad, 
 have spent their lives in killing every hell-doomed 
 infidel they can get hold of in cold blood. And 
 as the pigs of Hindus live on the other side of 
 the rushing river, it follows that those who kill 
 must also swim, since there is no bridge far or 
 near. That was why Hussan and Husayn, and 
 many another of their sort, with carefully oiled 
 thcAvs and sinews of bronze, would go down the 
 shale slope on dark nights and slip softly into 
 
358 THE SWIMMERS 
 
 the ice-cold stream. Then, if there was a glint 
 of moon, you could see them caught in the great 
 upward curve of the mad current inshore, the two 
 skin-bladders that Avere slung under their armpits 
 making it look as if six dark heads, not two, were 
 drifting down and down ; yet somehow drifting 
 nearer and nearer to the other side where the pigs 
 of Hindus were to be found. But even a glint of 
 moon kept them, as a rule, talking of future nights 
 — unless there was some cause to raise their reck- 
 lessness to fever-height ; for even that glint was 
 enough to make the police watchers on the other, 
 the English, side slip softly also into the stream, 
 and give chase. A strange, wild chase indeed it 
 was ; down and down in the dark till the blockade 
 was run, or the venture abandoned for another 
 night. Or stranger, wilder still, two men with 
 knives met on the crest of the current and fought 
 a strange, bloodless fight, hacking at the bladders 
 because they were larger than the head, and the 
 loss of them meant equally certain disablement. 
 For there was nothing to be done in that wild 
 stream if they were pricked but to cast them free 
 and dive — to dive down and down past the current, 
 to come up, please God ! nearer Jiome. 
 
 So, because of those Avatchers on the other side, 
 the Sitana swimmers could not start openly, nor 
 from tlie same place. They went singly, silently, 
 
THE SWIMMERS 359 
 
 but the next morning ere the light came fully 
 they ^yould all be resting together on the steps 
 of the little mosque ; unless, indeed, some of them 
 had not returned ; were, in fact, to return no more. 
 And the worshippers would be crowding round 
 one or two, perhaps, while the others looked on 
 enviously to hear how some traveller had been hap- 
 pened upon and done to death in the dark upon 
 the undulating tract of low jungle on the other 
 side. Then the worshippers going home would say 
 casually in their houses : " Hussan killed his man 
 last night ; that makes him two ahead of Husayn. 
 And Ahmad, the new one, hath another, so that 
 brings him next to Husayn, who will need to work 
 hard." And the Avomen would gossip about it 
 among themselves, and say that, of course, Miriam, 
 the village-beauty, would choose the best swimmer 
 when the time came for the curious choice which 
 is allowed the Pathan girl among lovers whom she 
 is supposed never to have seen. As yet, however, 
 Miriam had only laughed, and thrown handfuls of 
 yellow corn into the gutter, and said things to 
 the aspirants' female relations which were sure to 
 be repeated, and make the rivalry run fiercer than 
 ever. She did all this partly because of the big 
 shepherd, partly because it was good for the faith 
 to stimulate the young men's courage, but mostly 
 because it amused her. 
 
360 THE SWIMMERS 
 
 It was far, however, from having that effect on 
 the Englishman who was responsible for the repu- 
 tation of the district over the water. The more so 
 because his name happened to be John Nicholson, 
 and John Nicholson was not a man to allow any 
 increase of crime within his borders without know- 
 ing the reason why, and meting out punishment 
 for the offence. 
 
 " What the deuce does it mean ? " he said to the 
 trembling native official in charge of that particu- 
 lar portion of the country which lay over against 
 Sit^na. " There have been tAventy murders this 
 quarter against ten in the last. And I told you 
 that for every man killed on our side there were 
 to be two in Sitana. What on earth are your 
 swimmers about? If they are not so good as 
 theirs, get others. Get something ! There must 
 be some fault on your part, or they wouldn't cock 
 their tails up in this way. Remedy it; that is 
 what you have got to do, so don't ask questions 
 as to how it is to be done. I'll back you up, 
 never fear." 
 
 And then he took his telescope out, as he sat 
 on liis horse among the low bushes down by the 
 rushing river, and prospected before he galloped 
 off, neck or nothing, as his fashion was, to regain 
 his camp thirty miles away, and write an urgent 
 letter to Government detailing fully the measures 
 
THE SWIMMERS 361 
 
 which he intended to adopt for the repression of 
 these scandalous crimes. Bat even a telescope did 
 not show him Miriam's face as she sat spinning in 
 the courtyard. And the rest of the long, low, flat- 
 roofed village clinging to the shaly slope seemed 
 very much at its usual ; that is to say, the common- 
 place nest of as uncommon a set of religious scoun- 
 drels as could be found north or south. So he 
 told himself that they must have been strength- 
 ened lately by a new contingent of fanatics from 
 the plains, or that the approaching i\Iohurrum-tide 
 had raised their religious fervour to boiling-point. 
 He allowed these reasons to himself, though he 
 permitted none to his subordinate ; but neither he 
 nor the scared police inspector dreamed of that 
 laughing girl's face over the water which was the 
 cause of Hussan and Husayn's unusual activity. 
 Still as he gathered his reins into his left hand 
 he paused to give a more kindly look from under 
 his dark eyebrows at the inspector's knock-knees. 
 " Why don't you get some of their swimmers ? " 
 he asked curtly. "I could." Doubtless he could; 
 he was a man who got most things which he set 
 himself to get. Yet even he might have failed 
 here but for that girl's face, that handful of yellow 
 Indian corn, and the fierce fight which followed 
 for both between those two, Hussan and Husayn, 
 who, as they were finally held back from each 
 
362 THE SWIMMERS 
 
 other by soothing, friendly hands, felt that the end 
 was nigh if it had not already come. Brothers of 
 the same belief, — fellow- workers in that stream of 
 Death, — first and second alternately in the great 
 race for men's lives, they knew that the time had 
 come when they must be at each other's throat 
 and settle which was to be best once and for all 
 — which was to be best in Miriam's eyes. And 
 then to their blind wrath came an authoritative 
 voice, the voice of the holiest man there, the Syyud 
 Ahmad, whom to disobey was to be accursed. 
 "There is too much of this brawling," came the 
 fiat. " *Tis a disgrace. Lo ! Hussan, Husayn, here 
 among the elders, swear before the Lord to have 
 done with it. Swear that neither will raise hand 
 again against a hand that fights for the same 
 cause. Swear, both of you." A chorus of approval 
 came from the bystanders as those two, thus 
 checked, stood glaring at each other. There were 
 a few grains of the yellow Indian corn still in 
 the gutter at their feet ; and they looked at them 
 as they swore never again to raise a hand against 
 one fighting the good fight. 
 
 That same day, at dusk, Hussan and Husayn 
 sat on the edge of the stream, their feet almost 
 touching the water, their skin-bladders beside them, 
 their sharp knives hung in a sheath round their 
 necks. Their bronze muscles shone even in the 
 
THE SWIMMERS 363 
 
 growing gloom ; from head to foot they were lithe, 
 strong, graceful in their very strength. They sat 
 close to each other as they had often sat before, 
 looking out over the tumbling rush of the wild 
 current, to the other side of the river. 
 
 "Yea I Then I will go forth to-night as thou 
 sayest, Hussan ; and when I return equal, we will 
 draw lots which is to take service on the other 
 side." 
 
 " So be it, Husayn ; I will wait for thee. And 
 see, if thou couldst kill one of their swimmers, 
 'twere better. Then will it be easier to get his 
 place. Hit up, brother, from the water ; 'tis more 
 deadly than the downward stroke." 
 
 And as they sat side by side, speaking quietly, 
 almost indifferently, the evening call to prayer rang 
 out over the wild wicked stream, and without 
 another word they faced round from the river to 
 the western hills. The parapet of Miriam's house 
 stood out higher than the rest of the village. Per- 
 haps they made it the Kaaba of their prayers, 
 though they were orthodox enough in their genu- 
 flexions. 
 
 "Hussan and Husayn have been made by the 
 Pir sahib, to swear they will not fight any more," 
 said a girl, who giggled as she spoke, to INIiriam 
 when they were coming back with their water-pots 
 from the river. 
 
364 THE SWIMMERS 
 
 ''Loll! there be plenty others who will," answered 
 the round sweet voice that had not yet come to 
 its full sweetness and roundness. " They are all 
 like fighting-cocks, except the shepherds. Belike 
 'tis the sheep which make them peaceful, so they 
 have time to laugh. Hussan and Husayn are ever 
 breathless from some struggle. I would not be as 
 they." 
 
 '' Lazybones ! " retorted the giggler. " Thy 
 mother-in-law will need her tongue. Thy water- 
 pot is but half -full even now." 
 
 ^' Still, it is heavy enough for my arms," replied 
 the sweet voice indifferently, yet sharply, '' and the 
 river is far." Then it added inconsequently : ^' But 
 there are streams up in the hills that folk can 
 guide to their doors. And the grass grows soft 
 too. Here is nothing but stones ; I hate them , 
 they are so hard." 
 
 "And the big shepherd's mother is dead," put 
 in another girl pertly ; whereat the rest giggled 
 louder than ever. 
 
 Was it Hussan or Husayn who, three days after- 
 wards, appeared suddenly before the District-officer 
 in camp with a nicely written petition on a regula- 
 tion sheet of English-made paper, requesting that 
 he might be put on as a swimming patrol on the 
 river opposite Sitana in place of one who was sup- 
 posed to have been killed or drowned? There is 
 
THE SWIMMERS 365 
 
 no need to know. No need to know which it was 
 who won the toss when Husayn came back with 
 a smile to say that, so far, they Avere quits, and 
 might begin a new game. Whichever it Avas, John 
 Nicholson looked at the lean bronze thews and 
 sinews approvingly, and then asked the one crucial 
 question, " Can you ? " 
 
 The man smiled, a quick, broad smile. " None 
 better, ffuzoor, on the Indus. There is one, over 
 the water, who deems himself my match. God 
 knows if he is." 
 
 John Nicholson, who had bent over his writing 
 again, glanced up hastily. " So that is it. Here, 
 Moonshee, write an order to the man at Khanpur 
 to put this man on at once." He was back at his 
 writing almost before the order was ended, and in 
 the silence which followed under the white wings 
 of the tent set Avide to all the winds of heaven, 
 the sound of two pens could be heard. One was 
 the Englishman's, writing a report to headquarters 
 saying that the increase of crime must be checked 
 by reprisals, the other the native's, bidding the 
 inspector put on the bearer as a Government 
 swimmer. 
 
 " For signature, Huzoor^^ came a deferential 
 voice, and the still-busy pen shifted itself to the 
 shiny paper laid beside it, and the dark, keen, 
 kindly eyes looked up once more for half a sec- 
 
860 THE SWIMMERS 
 
 Olid. " Well, good luck to you ! I hope you'll 
 kill him, whoever he is." 
 
 " By the help of God, Huzoo7\ by the help of 
 God ! " 
 
 Which was it, Hussan or Husayn, who in the 
 growing dusk walked up and down the shaly gla- 
 cis below the long cluster of Sitana, watching the 
 opposite bank with tlie eyes of a lynx for each 
 stone of vantage, each shallow whence a few yards' 
 start might be gained ? Which was it, Husayn or 
 Hussan, who in the same dusk paced up and down 
 the low bank on the other side watching in his 
 turn, with untiring eyes, for the quicker curve of 
 the current where a bold swimmer might by one 
 swift venture drift down faster to the calmer 
 water, and so have a second or two in which to 
 regain breath ere the fight began? What matters 
 it whether the panther was on the western bank 
 and the leopard on the eastern ? They were two 
 wild beasts pacing up and down, up and down, 
 with their feet upon the water's edge ; up and 
 down, up and down, even when the moon rose 
 and their shadows showed more distinctly than 
 they did themselves ; for the oil upon their limbs 
 caught the light keenly like the glistening shale 
 and the glistening wet sand at their feet. Up 
 and down, up and down, they paced, in the still- 
 ness and the peace, with only the noise of the rush- 
 
THE SWIMMERS 367 
 
 ing river, sliimberously, monotonously, insistent ; up 
 and down, up and down till the cry of the muazzim 
 at dawn came echoing over the water. 
 
 Prayer is more than sleep! Prayer is more than 
 
 Ay ! more even than sleeplessness with sheer 
 murder in heart and brain. So peace fell between 
 those two while they turned towards Mecca and 
 prayed ; for what, God knows. Perhaps once more 
 the real spiritual Kaaba was what they saw with 
 the ejes of the flesh ; that flat-roofed house just 
 beginning to blush rosy in the earliest rays of the 
 rising sun ; more probabl}^ it was not, since they 
 had passed through love to hatred. And then, 
 prayers over, murder was over also for the time, 
 since they could not court detection by daylight. 
 
 "They are wondrous keen on the other side, 
 despite the moon," said the elders of the village 
 and the officials over the way, alike ; " but there 
 is no fear our watchman will be taken at a dis- 
 advantage. He is there from dusk till dawn." 
 
 " Ay ! " replied wiseacres on either side ; " but 
 when the moon wanes, what then ? " 
 
 It came even before that, came with a great 
 purple mass of thunder-clouds making the Black 
 ^fountain bej^ond the ^Nlahaban deserve its name, 
 and drawing two pair of eyes, one on either side 
 of the stream, into giving hopeful glances at the 
 
368 THE SWIMMERS 
 
 slow majestic march of gloom across the sky. It 
 Avas dusk an hour sooner, dawn an hour later than 
 usual that night and day, so there was plenty of 
 time for sheer murder before prayer- time. And 
 as there was no storm, no thunder after all, but 
 only the heavy clouds hanging like a curtain over 
 the moon, a faint splash into the rushing river 
 might have been heard some time in the night, 
 followed b}^ another. Then after a while a cry 
 broke the brooding silence above the hurrying 
 whisper below ; the cry of faith, and fate, and 
 fight. 
 
 Allah-ho-Akhhar ! AUah-ho-hukk ! 
 
 Perhaps it was the muazzhn again, proclaiming 
 out of due time that "God is Might and Right" ; 
 or maybe it Avas those two swimmers in the river 
 as they caught sight of each other in the whirling 
 water. If so, Hussan struck upwards from the 
 water, no doubt, and Husayn, mindful of advice, 
 followed suit ; and so the six black heads must 
 have gone drifting down stream peacefully, save 
 for the hatred in the two faces glaring at each 
 other, since the river hid their bloAvs decorously. 
 But there Avas no trace of them on it far or near 
 Avhen the sun rose over the eastern hills, and the 
 big shepherd, singing a guttural love-song, came 
 leaping down the stony path tow^ards Sitana Avith 
 a bunch of red rhododendrons behind his ear. 
 
THE SWIMMERS 369 
 
 Some days afterwards, however, the native official 
 at the Police Station rode over to see his superior, 
 and reported with a smirk that he had seen through 
 the telescope a great weeping and wailing at Sitana. 
 Two of their swimmers had apparently been killed 
 in fair fight, for their bodies had been brought up 
 for burial from the backwater further down the 
 river ; and as the new man, whom the Huzoor had 
 appointed, had either absconded or been killed also 
 that just made the proportion what his Honour 
 had laid down for future guidance, two to one. 
 
 " H'm ! " said John Nicholson half to himself, 
 " I wonder which of the two was really the better 
 man." 
 
 2b 
 
THE FAKEER'S DRUM 
 
 " 0! most almiglity wictoria^ V.R., reg. hritanni- 
 corum {V.I.^ Kaiser-i-Hmd), please admit hearer to 
 privileges of praising God on the little drum as oc- 
 casion hefitteth^ and your petitioner will ever pray^'' 
 etc. 
 
 It was written on a scrap of foreign paper duly 
 stamped as a petition, and it did not need the in- 
 terpolation of imperial titles to prove that this 
 was not by any means its first appearance in 
 court. To be plain, it had an " ancient and a fish- 
 like smell," suggestive of many years' acquaintance 
 with dirty humanity. I looked at the man who 
 had presented it — a very ordinary fakeer^ standing 
 with hands folded humbly — and was struck by the 
 wistful expectancy in his face. It was at once 
 hopeful yet hopeless. Turning to the court-reader 
 for explanation, I found a decorous smile flowing 
 round the circle of squatting clerks. It was evi- 
 dently an old-established joke. 
 
 " He is damnably noisef ul man. Sir," remarked 
 370 
 
THE fakeer's drum 371 
 
 my sarishtidar, cheerfully, " and his place of sittmg 
 close to Deputy-Commissioner's bitngalow. Thus 
 European officers object ; so it is always na-mun- 
 zoor^^ (refused). 
 
 The sound of the familiar formula drove the 
 hope from the old man's face ; his thin shoulders 
 seemed to droop, but he said nothing. 
 
 " How long has this been going on ? " I asked. 
 
 " Fourteen years. Sir. Always on transference 
 of officers, and it is always na-munzoo7\^^ He dipped 
 his pen in the ink, gave it the premonitory flick. 
 
 ^'Mu7izoor^' (granted), said I, in a sudden de- 
 cision. ^'- Munzoor during the term of my office." 
 
 That was but a month. I was only a locum 
 teyiens during leave. Only a month, and the poor 
 old beggar had waited fourteen years to praise 
 God on the little drum ! The pathos and bathos 
 of it hit me hard ; but a stare of infinite surprise 
 had replaced the circumambient smile. The faJceer 
 himself seemed flabbergasted. I think he felt lost 
 without his petition, for I saw him fumbling in 
 his pocket as the janissaries hustled him out of 
 court, as janissaries love to do, east or west. 
 
 That night, as I was wondering if I had smoked 
 enough and yawned enough to make sleep possi- 
 ble in a hundred degrees of heat, and a hundred 
 million mosquitoes, I was suddenly reminded of the 
 proverb "Charity begins at home," It had, with 
 
372 THE fakeer's drum 
 
 a vengeance. I had thought my sarishtidar s lan- 
 guage a trifle too picturesque ; now I recognised 
 its supreme accuracy. T\\q fakeer was "a damnably 
 noiseful man." It is useless trying to add one 
 iota to this description, especially to those unac- 
 quainted with the torture of an Indian drum. By 
 dawn I was in the saddle, glad to escape from my 
 own house and the ceaseless " Mump a- turn- turn ^'^ 
 which was driving me crazy. 
 
 When I returned, the old man was awaiting me 
 in the verandah, his face full of a great content; 
 and the desire to murder him, which rose up in 
 me with the thought of the twenty-nine nights 
 yet to come, faded before it. Perfect happiness 
 is not the lot of many, but apparently it was his. 
 He salaamed down to the ground. '•'- Huzoor^'" he 
 said, "the great joy in me created a disturbance 
 last night. It will not occur again. The Pro- 
 tector of the Poor shall sleep in peace, even though 
 his slave praises God for him all night long. The 
 Almighty does not require a loud drum." 
 
 I said I was glad to hear it, and my self-com- 
 placency grew until I laid my head on the pillow 
 somewhat earlier than usual. Then I became 
 aware of a faint throbbing in the air, like that 
 which follows a deep organ note — a throbbing 
 which found its way into the drum of my ear and 
 remained there — so faint that it kept me on the 
 
THE fakeer's drum 373 
 
 rack to know if it had stopped or was still go- 
 ing on. " Rumpa-tum-tiim-tum^ rumpa-tum-tum-tum^ 
 
 rumpa " Even now the impulse to make the 
 
 hateful rhythm interminable seizes on me. I have 
 to lay aside my pen and take a new one before 
 going on. 
 
 I draw a veil over the mental struggle which 
 followed. It would have been quite easy to rescind 
 my permission, but the thought of one month versus 
 fourteen years roused my pride. As representative 
 of the '•'almighty wictoria, reg. hritamiicorum,'" etc., 
 I had admitted this man to the privileges of prais- 
 ing God on the little drum, and there was an end 
 of it. But the effort left my nerves shattered with 
 the strain put on them. It was the middle of the 
 hot weather — that awful fortnight before the rains 
 break — I was young — absolutely alone. Every 
 morning as I rode, a perfect wreck, past the fakeers 
 hovel by the gate, he used to ask me if I had slept 
 well, and I lied to him. What was the use of 
 suffering if no one was the happier for it? 
 
 At last, one evening — it Avas the twenty -first, 
 I remember, for I ticked them off on a calendar 
 like any schoolboy — I sat out among the olean- 
 ders, knowing that sleep was mine. The rains had 
 broken, a cool wind stirred the dripping trees, the 
 fever of unrest was over. Clouds of winged white 
 ants besieged the lamp : what wonder, when the 
 
374 THE fakeer's drum 
 
 rafters of the old bungalow were riddled almost 
 beyond the limits of safety by their galleries ? But 
 what did I care ? I was going to sleep. And so 
 I did, like a child, until close on the dawn. And 
 then — by heavens, it was too bad ! In the ve- 
 randah surely, not faint, but loudly imperative : 
 
 " RUMPA-TUM-TUM-TUM ! " 
 
 I was out of bed in an instant full of fury. 
 The fiend incarnate must be walking round 
 the house. I Avas after him in the moonlight. 
 Not a sign ; the white oleanders were shining in 
 the dark foliage; a firefly or two — nothing more. 
 
 " Rumpa-tum-tum-tum ! " Fainter this time round 
 the corner. 
 
 Not there ! 
 
 ''^ Mumjm-tum-tum-tum ! '^ A mere whisper now, 
 but loud enough to be traced. So on the track, 
 I was round the house to the verandah w^hence I 
 had started. 
 
 No sign — no sound ! 
 
 Gracious ! what was that ? A crash, a thud, 
 a roar and rattle of earth I The house I the roof ! 
 
 When by the growing light of dawn we in- 
 spected the damage, Ave found the biggest rafter 
 of all lying right across the pillow where my head 
 had been two minutes before. The first sunbeams 
 were on the still sparkling trees when, full of curi- 
 osity, I strolled over to the fakeers hut. It also 
 
THE pakeer's drum ' 375 
 
 was a heap of ruins, and when we dug the old 
 man out from among the ant-riddled rafters the 
 doctor said he had been dead for many hours. 
 
 This story may seem strange to some ; others 
 will agree with my sarishtidar, who, after spending 
 the morning over a Johnson's dictionary and a 
 revenue report, informed me that "such catas- 
 trophes are but too common in this unhappy land 
 after heavy rain following on long-continued 
 drought." 
 
AT HER BECK AND CALL 
 
 " What is your name ? " I asked. 
 
 "Phooli-jan, Huzoo}\'' she answered, with a brill- 
 iant, dazzling smile. 
 
 I sat looking at her, wondering if a more ap- 
 propriate name could have been found for that 
 figure among the anemones and celandines, the 
 primulas, pansies, and pinks — the thousand-and- 
 one blossoms which, glowing against their ground- 
 work of forget-me-not, formed a jewel-mosaic right 
 to the foot of the snows above us. Floiverful life ! 
 Truly that was hers. She had a great bunch of 
 scarlet rhododendron stuck behind her ear, match- 
 ing the cloth cap perched jauntily on her head, 
 and as she sat herding her buffaloes on the up- 
 land she had threaded chaplet on chaplet of ox- 
 eyed daisies, and hung them about her Avherever 
 they could be hung. The result was distinctly 
 flowerful ; her face also was distinctly pretty, dis- 
 tinctly clean for a Kashmiri girl's. But coquette, 
 flirt, minx, was written in every line of it, and 
 
 376 
 
AT HER BECK AND CALL 377 
 
 accounted for a most unusual neatness and bright- 
 ness. 
 
 She caught my eye and smiled again, broadly, 
 innocently. 
 
 '' The Huzoor would like to paint my picture, 
 wouldn't he ? " she went on, in a tone of certainty. 
 ^' The Sahib who came last year gave me five 
 rupees. I will take six this year. Food is dear, 
 and those base-born contractors of the Maharajah 
 seize everything — one walnut in ten, one chicken 
 in ten." 
 
 But I was not going to be beguiled into the old 
 complaints I could hear any and every day from 
 the hags of the village. Up here on the murg, 
 within a stone's-throw of the first patch of snow 
 picketing the outskirts of the great glacier of 
 Gwashbrari, I liked, if possible, to forget how vile 
 man could be in the little shingle huts clustering 
 below by the river. I will not describe the place. 
 To begin with it defies description, and next, could 
 I even hint at its surpassing beauty, the globe- 
 trotter would come and defile it. It is sufficient 
 to say that a murg is an upland meadow or alp, 
 and that this one, with its forget-me-nots and 
 sparkling glaciers, was like a turquoise set in dia- 
 monds. I had seated myself on a projecting spur, 
 whence I could sketch a frowning defile north- 
 wards, down which the emerald -green river was 
 
378 AT HER BECK AND CALL 
 
 dashing madly among huge rocks crowned by pine- 
 trees. 
 
 " I will give live rupees also ; that is plenty," I 
 remarked suavely, and Phooli-jan smiled again. 
 
 "It must do, for I like being painted. Only a 
 few Sahibs come, very few ; but whenever they 
 see me they w^ant to paint me and the flowers, 
 and it makes the other girls in the village angry. 
 
 Then Goloo and Chuchchu " Here she went off 
 
 into a perfect cascade of smiles, and began to pull 
 the eyelashes off the daisies deliberately. Tliere 
 seems a peculiar temptation in girlhood for cruelty 
 towards flowers all over the world, and Phooli-jan 
 was pre-eminently girlish. She looked eighteen, 
 but I doubt if she was really more than sixteen. 
 Even so, it was odd to find her unappropriated, so 
 I inquired if Goloo or Chuchchu was the happy 
 man. 
 
 "My mother is a widow," she replied without 
 the least hesitation. " It depends which will pay 
 the most, for we are poor. There are others, too, 
 so there is no hurry. They are at my beck and 
 call." 
 
 She crooked her forefinger and nodded her head 
 as if beckoning to some one. For sheer light- 
 hearted, innocent enjoyment of her own attraction 
 I never saw the equal of that face. I should have 
 made my fortune if 1 could have painted it there 
 
AT HER BECK AND CALL 379 
 
 in the blazing sunlight, framed in flowers ; but it 
 was too much for me. Therefore, I asked her to 
 move to the right, further along the promontory, 
 so that I could put her in the foreground of the 
 picture I had already begun. 
 
 " There, by that first clump of iris," I said, point- 
 ing to a patch of green sword-leaves, where the 
 white and lilac blossoms were beginning to show. 
 
 She gave a perceptible shudder. 
 
 "What? Sit on a grave! Not I. Does not 
 the Huzoor know that those are graves? It is 
 true. All our people are buried here. We plant 
 the iris over them always. If you ask why, I 
 know not. It is the flower of death." 
 
 A sudden determination to paint her, the Flower- 
 ful Life against the Flowerful Death, completely 
 obliterated the knowledge of my own incompe- 
 tence ; but I urged and bribed in vain. Phooli- 
 jau would not stir. She would not even let me 
 pick a handful of the flowers for her to hold. It 
 was unlucky; besides, one never knew what one 
 might find in the thickets of leaves — bones and 
 horrid things. Had I never heard that dead peo- 
 ple got tired of their graves and tried to get out ? 
 Even if they only wanted something in their graves 
 they would stretch forth a hand to get it. That 
 was one reason why people covered them up with 
 flowers — just to make them more contented. 
 
380 AT HER BECK AND CALL 
 
 The idea of stooping to cull a flower and shak- 
 ing hands with a corpse was distinctly unpleasant, 
 even in the sunlight ; so I gave up the point and 
 began to sketch the girl as she sat. Rather a 
 difficult task, for she chattered incessantl}^ Did 
 I see that thin blue thread of smoke in the dark 
 pall of pine-trees covering the bottom of the val- 
 ley? That was Goloo's fire. He was drying orris 
 root for the Maharajah. There, on the opposite 
 viurg^ where the buffaloes showed dark among the 
 flowers, was Chuchchu's hut. Undoubtedly, Chuch- 
 cliu was the richer, but Goloo could climb like an 
 ibex. It was he whom the Huzoor was going to 
 take as a guide to the peak. He could dance, 
 too. The Huzoo?' should see him dance the circle 
 dance round the fire — no one turned so slowly as 
 Goloo. He would not frighten a young lamb, ex- 
 cept when he was angry — well, jealous, if the 
 Huzoor thought that a better word. 
 
 By the time she had done chattering there was 
 not a petal left on the ox-eyed daisies, and I was 
 divided between pity and envy towards Goloo and 
 Chuchchu. 
 
 That evening, as usual, I set my painting to dry 
 on the easel at the door of the tent. As I lounged 
 by the camp fire, smoking my pipe, a big young 
 man, coming in with a jar of buffalo milk on his 
 shoulder and a big bunch of red rhododendron be- 
 
AT HER BECK AND CALL 381 
 
 hind his ear, stopped and grinned at my caricatnre 
 of Phooli-jan. Five minutes after, down by the 
 servants' encampment, I heard a free fight going 
 on, and strolled over to see what was the matter. 
 After the manner of Kashmiri quarrels, it had 
 ended almost as it began ; for the race love peace. 
 That it had so ended was not, however, I saw at 
 a glance, the fault of the smaller of the antago- 
 nists, who was being forcibly held back by my 
 shikari. 
 
 " Chuchchu, that man there, wanted to charge 
 Goloo, this man here, the same price for milk as 
 he does your honour," explained the shikari elabo- 
 rately. " That was extortionate, even though Go- 
 loo, being the Huzoor's guide for to-morrow, may 
 be said to be your honour's servant for the time. 
 I have settled the matter justly. The Huzoor need 
 not give thought to it." 
 
 I looked at the two recipients of Phooli-jan's 
 favour with interest — for that the bunches of red 
 rhododendron they both wore were her gift I did 
 not doubt. They were both fine young men, but 
 Goloo was distinctly the better-looking of the two, 
 if a trifle sinister. 
 
 Despite the recommendation of my shikai'i to 
 cast thought aside, the incident lingered in ni}^ 
 memory, and I mentioned it to Phooli-jan when, 
 on returning to finish my sketch, I found her 
 
382 AT HER BECK AND CALL 
 
 waiting for me among the flowers. Her smile was 
 more brilliant than ever. 
 
 " They will not hurt each other," she said. 
 " Chuchchu knows that Goloo is more active, and 
 Goloo knows that Chuchchu is stronger. It is 
 like the dogs in our village." 
 
 "I was not thinking of them," I replied; "I 
 was thinking of you. Supposing they were to 
 quarrel with you ? " 
 
 She laughed. " They will not quarrel. In sum- 
 mer time there are plenty of flowers for everybody." 
 
 I thought of those red rhododendrons, and could 
 not repress a smile at her barefaced wisdom of the 
 serpent. 
 
 " And in the winter time ? " 
 
 ''Then I will marry one of them, or some one. 
 I have only to choose. That is all. They are at 
 my beck and call." 
 
 Three years passed before recurring leave en- 
 abled me to pay another visit to the murg. The 
 rhododendrons were once more on the uplands, 
 and as I turned the last corner of the pine-set 
 path which threaded its way through the defile 
 I saw the meadow before me, with its mosaic of 
 flowers bright as ever. The memory of Phooli-jan 
 came back to me as she had sat in the sunshine 
 nodding and beckoning. 
 
AT HER BECK AND CALL 383 
 
 " Phooli-jan? " echoed the okl patriarch who came 
 out to welcome me as I crossed the phink bridge 
 to the village, '' Phooli-jan, the herd-girl? Huzoor^ 
 she is dead ; she died from picking flowers. A 
 vain thing. It was at the turn beyond the miirg^ 
 Iluzoor^ half-way between Chuchchu's hut and 
 Goloo's drying stage. There is a big rhododen- 
 dron tree hanging over the cliff, and she must have 
 fallen down. It is three years gone." 
 
 Three years ; then it must have happened almost 
 immediately after I left the valley. The idea up- 
 set me ; I knew not why. The miirg without that 
 Flowerful Life nodding and beckoning felt empty, 
 and I found myself wondering if indeed the girl 
 had fallen doAvn, or if she had played with flowers 
 too recklessly and one of her lovers, perhaps 
 both It was an idea which dimmed the sun- 
 shine and I was glad that I had arranged not to 
 remain for the night, but to push on to another 
 meadow, some six miles farther up the river. To 
 do so, however, I required a fresh relay of coolies, 
 and while my shikari was arranging for this in the 
 village I made my way by a cross-cut to the promon- 
 tory, with its patches of iris. 
 
 Deaths are rare in these small communities, and 
 there were but two or three new graves — all but 
 one too recent to be poor Phooli-jan's. That, 
 then, must be hers, with its still clearly defined 
 
384 AT HER BECK AND CALL 
 
 oblong of iris, already a mass of pale purple and 
 white. 
 
 I sat down on a rock and began, unromantically, 
 to eat my lunch, finishing up with a pull at my 
 flask, and thus providentially fortified, I stooped, 
 ere leaving, to pick one or two of the blossoms from 
 the grave, intending to paint them round the sketch 
 of the girl's head which I had with me. 
 
 Great heavens ! what was that ? 
 
 I turned positively sick with horror and doubt. 
 Was it a hand ? It was some time before I could 
 force myself to set aside the sheathing leaves and 
 settle the point. Something it was, something 
 which, even as I parted the stems, fell to pieces, 
 as the skeleton of a beckoning hand might have 
 done. I did not stay to see more ; I let the flowers 
 close over it — whatever it was — and made my 
 way back to the village. My baggage, having 
 changed shoulders, was streaming out over the 
 plank bridge again, and in the two first bearers, 
 carrying my cook-room pots and pans, I recog- 
 nised Goloo and Chuchchu. They had both grown 
 stouter, and wore huge bunches of red rhododen- 
 dron behind their ears. I found out, on inquiry, 
 that they were both married and had become 
 bosom friends. 
 
 I have not seen the turquoise set in diamonds 
 since, but I often tliiuk of it, and wonder what it 
 
AT HER BECK AKD CALL 385 
 
 was I saw among tlie iris. And then I seem to 
 see Phooli-jan sitting among the flowers, nodding 
 her head and saying, " Tliey are at my beck and 
 call/' 
 
 If I were Goloo or Chuchchu, I would be buried 
 somewhere else. 
 2c 
 
MUSIC HATH CHARMS^ 
 
 It was the very last place in the world where 
 you would have expected to hear the notes of a 
 church harmonium ; and the old man who, seated 
 on a reed stool, was playing God Save the Queen 
 with one linger, was the very last person whom 
 3^ou would have expected to see performing upon 
 it. But there it stood, quite at home, between, the 
 wooden pillars which divided the central living- 
 room from the crowd of latticed closets around 
 it ; and there he sat, quite at home, on the stool, 
 his naked brown legs struggling with the bellows, 
 his brown fingers patting down the keys with a 
 sort of pompous precision. For Punoo was a 
 music-master, and that was his pupil who, with 
 a yawn, was watching his proceedings from the 
 iloor while she threaded beads on a string inter- 
 mittently. That was also the last place from which 
 one would expect any one to take a music-lesson ; 
 but old Punoo being blind was fully persuaded 
 that Bahani was dutifully at his elbow. This 
 1 Copyright, IbiiG, by Macmillaii & Co. 
 386 
 
MUSIC HATH CHARMS 387 
 
 blindness of his was, however, far more to his 
 advantage than his disadvantage as a master. It 
 was, in short, the cause of his being one at all ; 
 since had he had the use of his eyes no mother 
 would have dreamed of employing a man, who was 
 not more than forty-five at the outside, in teach- 
 ing her girls. As it was, his time was fully taken 
 up in the houses of the clerks, contractors, barris- 
 ters, and such like, who for some reason or another 
 desired to impart the exotic accomplishment of 
 music to their daughters or wives. But of all 
 these houses Punoo loved the one which contained 
 the harmonium best ; not because of his pupil, 
 since Bahani, who was betrothed to a young man 
 who might be seen any day on a Hammersmith 
 omnibus over on the other side of the world, never 
 learned anything ; but because of the instrument 
 itself. To tell truth it had quite a fine tone, es- 
 pecially when all the wind in its wheezy bellows 
 was sent into one note. And then the playing of 
 it seemed to satisfy him from head to foot. All 
 the other instruments, the accordions and concer- 
 tinas, even his own fiddle with seven strings, of 
 which he was really very fond, only employed his 
 head and his hands ; but this made his whole body 
 as it were to toil and labour after melody. As 
 he sat, his forehead bedewed with perspiration, the 
 expression on Ids sightless face, turned upwards all 
 
388 MUSIC HATH CHAKMS 
 
 unconscious of the clingy, sordid, smoke-blackened 
 rafters wliicli limited his vision, was quite sufficient 
 to make up for the lack of it in the music ; it 
 was the expression of a prisoner who, through the 
 bars of a cage, sees freedom. But the odd little 
 gridiron in the centre of the dark room, which 
 gave it some light and air from the roof above, 
 was scarcely large enough to allow even of Punoo's 
 wizened figure to pass through. 
 
 " Lo, it gives one a melting of the liver, and a 
 sinking of the heart to hear thee, Master-jee," re- 
 marked Mai Kishnu, bustling in with a handful of 
 radishes for the pickle-stew. " Canst not play 
 something more lively, something that goes not 
 wombling up and down like an ill-greased wheel, 
 something with a count in it that gives a body time 
 to catch the beat of it ? For sure I could make 
 better music with my ladle and tray ; better music 
 for a bride anyhow ; and mark my word, Bahani, 
 when thou art really one there shall be none of 
 this hoo-hooing and ow-wowing^ that might set free 
 thoughts of Avolves and God knows what monsters 
 to damage all thy hopes." 
 
 " 'Tis not likely, Mai," said Punoo, desisting to 
 speak with great dignity, " that Bahani will have 
 mastered so much. 'Tis not given to all to play 
 God Save the Queen as I do." 
 
 '' That is good hearing ! " ejaculated the house- 
 
MUSIC HATH CHARMS 389 
 
 mother piously. ^' But the girl gets on, I hope, 
 Master Punoo. Her fatlier writes of it often ; 
 and the instrument, as thou knowest, cost fully 
 ten shillings." 
 
 In Punoo's account, which he retailed to his 
 other customers, it had cost five times that amount, 
 and he had a spirited description of the auction 
 where Colonels and Deputy-Sahibs, and Barrack- 
 Masters had bidden in vain against Bahani's father 
 Mool Chand, who was municipal clerk in an out- 
 lying district. According to Punoo also it had 
 cost five hundred times that amount when the 
 Padre Sahib, — sometimes it was the Lord Padre 
 Sahib— (the Bishop), —had sent for it originally 
 from England. There was a further legend, vague 
 and misty even to himself, which he kept holy, as 
 it were, from profane use by locking it away in 
 his own breast, which hinted that the harmonium 
 had been thrown on the market from no desire 
 to get rid of it, but simply from pecuniary neces- 
 sity ; the Chaplain having been forced into selling 
 his greatest treasure in order to pay the bill for 
 a new one. To tell truth, Punoo's estimate of 
 the harmonium was vague and misty on more 
 points than this. He was, in fact, absolutely igno- 
 rant of anything concerning it, save that if you 
 blew persistently at the bellows and pressed the 
 keys it made a noise which somehow or other 
 
390 MUSIC HATH CHARMS 
 
 seemed to set 3^ou free, and yet kept you longing 
 for something more. Punoo knew not for what, 
 having not the slightest idea that he had been 
 born with music in his soul, and that if he had 
 first seen tlie light in the Western hemisphere in- 
 stead of the Eastern, he would most likely have 
 been a Wagnerite or some other kind of musical 
 enthusiast. 
 
 As it was, to oblige Mai Kishnu he played 
 Mmnia Punnieya as quickly as he could, though 
 it was a pain and grief to him to give up the long- 
 di'awn notes which sounded so beautiful in God 
 Save our Crracious Queen. But Mai Kishnu stirred 
 the pickle-stew to the new rhythm, emphasising it 
 properly with little strokes of the ladle upon the 
 resounding brass pot. Bahani, she said, must 
 learn that tune against her man's return from 
 being made into a halester (barrister) ; whereat 
 Bahani with the utmost decorum giggled and 
 blushed over her beads. She was a pretty, pert 
 girl, who looked upon the future with perfect 
 serenity ; for being married to her first cousin 
 whose widowed mother lived in the house, she 
 knew exactly what the amount of friction between 
 her and her future mother-in-law would be ; and 
 knew also that she would generally be able' to 
 escape quietl}^ as she did now, from the scene of 
 conflict, and leave the two elder women to have 
 
MUSIC HATH CHARMS 391 
 
 it out at full length if they chose. They gener- 
 ally did choose, because they nearly always had an 
 interested audience ; for the quaint rambling old 
 house with its rabbit-warren of tiny rooms open- 
 ing- out to little bits of roof, was full of relations ; 
 chiefly women whose husbands were away in Gov- 
 ernment employ. They each had a separate lodg- 
 ing, as it were, though they were quite as often 
 in some one else's room as in their own, especially 
 when the sound of shrill altercation echoed through 
 the wooden partitions. By a recognised etiquette, 
 however, all serious disputes were carried on in the 
 well-room where the women bathed. It was more 
 a verandah than a room, though the arches were 
 filled up breast-high with a screening wall. But 
 through the hole in the floor, above which the 
 windlass stood, you could not only see right down 
 into the well on the basement story, but also see 
 the people in the street coming for their water. 
 It was when Bahani was discovered lying flat on 
 the floor so as to crane over and peep into the 
 very street itself, that the fiercest quarrels arose 
 between Mai Kishnu and her widowed sister-in- 
 law. And no quarrel ever ran its course without 
 a reference of some sort to the harmonium, and 
 the iniquity and idiotcy of learning to play tunes 
 as if you were a bad woman in the bazaar. In 
 her heart of hearts Mai Kishnu agreed with this 
 
392 MUSIC HATH CHARMS 
 
 view of the question, but she would sooner have 
 died than confess it, so she invariably carried the 
 war into the enemy's country instead, by insist- 
 ing on it that Bahani learned in deference to the 
 oft-expressed desire of her lawful husband, that 
 husband being the complainant's own son. And 
 sometimes, but not often, for she was a faithful 
 defender of the absent municipal clerk, she would 
 clinch the matter by telling her sister-in-law that 
 if there was iniquity or idiotcy about, her brother 
 was also to blame. Whereupon Radha, who, being 
 the widow of an elder brother, really was, in a way, 
 the head of the house, would retort that in that case 
 it was all the more necessary for the women-folk of 
 the family to remember that the salvation of souls 
 lay with them ; so she would beg to remind all pres- 
 ent, that this being a dark Saturday or a light Fri- 
 day, with some particular event in prospect or some 
 particular event in the past, it behoved no pious 
 women of that family to eat, say radishes, on that 
 day. Now, when you have just spent much time 
 and skill in the preparing of pickles for a large 
 household, it is aggravating to be told that it is an 
 impious diet. Still there was always the obvious 
 retort that on such days widows ate nothing at 
 all. So then Radha, with pharisaical acquiescence, 
 would retire to her own little bit of a room, with 
 her husband's photograph (he had been a clerk 
 
MUSIC HATH CHARMS 393 
 
 also) hung between two German prints of the 
 Madonna and Herodias' daughter (which did duty 
 respectively for the infant Krishna and Durga 
 Devi slaying the demons) and begin counting her 
 beads with a clatter, and repeating her texts in 
 an aggressively loud voice ; while Mai Kishnu, 
 after sending the pickle-stew of radishes down in 
 the window-basket as an alms to the first beggar 
 in the street, would begin to cook something else ; 
 something as nasty as her deft hands could make 
 it, since this, oddly enough, relieved her feelings. 
 
 But Punoo would go on playing Grod Save our 
 G7'acious Queeyi on the old harmonium with per- 
 fect serenity, all unconscious of the fact that two 
 women were cursing it in their hearts as a malevo- 
 lent demon bent on ruining the household. It was 
 a quaint household when all was said and done, 
 this colony of women, whose husbands were for 
 the most part away serving the Government in 
 remote stations. Quaintest of all it was, perhaps, 
 when in the afternoon the boys belonging to it 
 (and there were many, thank Heaven ! despite the 
 demon) came home from school ; embryo clerks 
 full of classes and examinations, yet with a word 
 or two for " crickets " and a desire for pickled 
 radishes on every day in the calendar. 
 
 "Ask your Aunt Radha," Mai Kishnu would 
 say shortly to their remonstrances over the nasty 
 
394 MUSIC HATH CHARMS 
 
 substitute for the delicacy. '''Twas she forced me 
 into giving your stoniachsful of my best pickles to 
 some dirty beast of a beggar in the street. God 
 forgive me if he was a holy man, but he may have 
 been a Mohammedan for all I know, and what 
 good will that do to my soul ? " 
 
 But despite the '' crickets " and the examina- 
 tions, despite the vague leavening of Western free- 
 thought, the boys fought shy of their Aunt Radha, 
 perhaps from the veil of uncertainty \vhich their 
 education Avas necessarily throwing over all things. 
 There were so many ideas, and one must be right ; 
 it might be this one. In a way they were more 
 afraid of her and her views than Mai Kishnu was, 
 who never doubted at all. But then Mai Kishnu 
 knew that she could always have the upper hand 
 over her sister-in-law in the matter of cold baths 
 in the winter mornings ; for Radha thought twice 
 about interfering with the beams in other folks' 
 eyes, when the mote of her own about warm water 
 for religious ablutions was ready to her adversary's 
 hand. 
 
 The boys, however, though they ate the nasty 
 substitute for pickles without more ado, were not 
 so biddable in the matter of God Save the Queen, 
 As they sat on the dark flight of steps between 
 the living-room and the well-verandah they used 
 to pipe away at it in English in the oddest fal- 
 
MUSIC HATH CHAllMS 395 
 
 setto. And Bahani, who was a bit of a tomboy, 
 would imitate them, and then go into fits of shrill 
 laughter at her own gibberish. 
 
 Altogether it was a very quaint household, and 
 it was a very quaint noise indeed which went 
 up to high Heaven from it ; the boys' voices, 
 Bahani's mocking laugh, Radha's muttered texts, 
 Mai Kishnu's vexed clattering of her ladles and 
 pots, and blind Punoo's perspiring efforts after 
 melody on the old harmonium. For he never at- 
 tempted liarmony; that was beyond his self-taught 
 execution altogether. But the sense of it was 
 there, showing itself in sheer delight at pulling 
 out all the stops that still existed, and blowing 
 away till he could no more from sheer exhaustion. 
 
 So the years had passed contentedly enough for 
 every one ; especially for the old music-master who 
 every day went away with the unleavened cake, 
 which was his only fee, knowing that even sucli 
 payment was in excess of his desires, since it was 
 enough for him to have the honour and glory of 
 playing on the harmonium, and of boasting about 
 his proficiency on that instrument to his other 
 pupils who were forced to be content with an 
 accordion or some such ignoble instrument. 
 
 And then one day the funny, old rambling house 
 was in a perfect ferment of preparation, and even 
 Radha's face was beaming ; for her son was coming 
 
39G MUSIC HATH CHARMS 
 
 home. He was coming from the Hammersmith 
 omnibus and the boarding-house in Notting Hill, 
 coming from the rush and roar of London to take 
 up the threads of life again in the dark latticed 
 rooms where Mai Kishnu made pickles and his 
 mother said her prayers ; above all Avhere Bahani 
 waited for him, all dyed with turmeric and henna, 
 and clothed in tinselled garments. The little 
 household temple up on the roof, where there 
 were more German prints doing duty as various 
 gods and goddesses, had scarcely an instant's res- 
 pite from the multitudinous rituals ; and if there 
 was a minute or two to spare, the women down- 
 stairs were sure to remember something else which 
 if left undone would bring the most direful mis- 
 fortune on the young couple. There was no quar- 
 relling now, only a babel of shrill kindly voices. 
 And there was no music, save of a kind to which 
 Mai Kishnu could clatter her ladles and pans ; 
 drubbings of drums and endless tinklings of sutaras 
 — for the good lady had set her foot down as re- 
 gards the harmonium, even to the extent of show- 
 ing off Bahani's accomplishment. Accomplishment 
 forsooth ! What need was there of such fools' 
 talk between a newly -met young couple ? And 
 though Gunesha had come back from the other 
 side of the world dressed like a real Sahib, that 
 did not prevent his being a young man, and know- 
 
MUSIC HATH CHAlliyiS 397 
 
 ing a pretty bride when he saw one. So, thank 
 heaven ! there they were at last, in the pleasant 
 cool upper room on the roof, which had been all 
 newly whitewashed and painted and strewn Avith 
 flowers for the auspicious occasion, looking into 
 each other's eyes as young people should. It was 
 all so proper, so touching, so infinitely satisfactory, 
 that for once Kishnu and Radha fell on each 
 other's necks and wept tears of sympathy. 
 
 But Punoo wandered in and out as a privileged 
 guest among the merry-making and the bustle, sid- 
 ling up to his closed treasure, feeling it all over in 
 sightless fashion, and longing for the time when he 
 should be called upon, as the bride's master, to dis- 
 play her accomplishment ; for by this time she could 
 play Minnia Punnieya and a few other tunes quite 
 correctly. But the days passed, and those two on 
 the roof, despite music and culture, despite all the 
 sciences and all the 'ologies, were quite content with 
 those things which had contented their fathers and 
 mothers before them. It was not so with old Punoo. 
 Even his fiddle afforded him no comfort ; and though 
 his other pupils' accordions and concertinas gave him 
 the correct musical intervals which his ear ap^Droved 
 instinctively, but which his hand was too unpractised 
 to reproduce with the accuracy which satisfied him, 
 they were poor substitutes for that splendid tone 
 which was born of vehement pumping and perspira- 
 
398 MUSIC HATH CHARMS 
 
 tion. Perhaps it Avas really the latter he craved ; 
 that feeling of labouring body and soul to give 
 expression to something within him. 
 
 Even billing and cooing like a couple of pigeons 
 on the roof, however, must come to an end, and after 
 some three weeks of it, the barrister one day dis- 
 covered that there was a harmonium in the dark 
 arches of the living-room. He Avas beginning by 
 this time to think that he had perhaps drifted a little 
 too far back into the old life, and that as he had 
 every intention, when this first very natural and in- 
 evitable relapse was over, of setting up house on more 
 civilised lines, it might be as well to show off his 
 new habits a little, and so emphasise the difference 
 which he meant to draw between his life and the life 
 led in the quaint old ancestral house. So without 
 more ado, without any asking of how it came there, 
 or who played on it, he whisked his coat-tails (for he 
 had resumed European dress on his descent from 
 the roof) over the music-stool with the consummate 
 air of a performer and set his feet to the pedals and 
 his hands to the keys. 
 
 "What a wheezy old thing!" he cried, when a 
 sort of agonised moo as from a sick cow came in re- 
 sponse. Bahani, standing decorously in the shadow 
 with her veil down in most alluring bashfulness, 
 tittered, and old Punoo, who had stood still in sheer 
 surprise, moved forward with a superior smile. 
 
MUSIC HATH CHARMS 399 
 
 The barrister heard and saw, and a frown came to 
 his self-satisfied face. "The bellows are leaking," 
 he cried again ; '' but never mind, it shall do some- 
 thing ; ni make it ! " 
 
 Something indeed ! The women giggled and 
 stopped their ears, but old Punoo stood transfixed, a 
 great pain, a great joy coming to his sightless face. 
 Was that the harmonium ? Was that G-od Save the 
 Queen^ that pa^on of melody and harmony together, 
 coming in great waves of sound and bearing him 
 away, further and further and further into some un- 
 known land that was yet a Land of Promise ? And 
 all these years he had lived in ignorance ; he had 
 boasted, he had said that he could play it, his price- 
 less treasure ! Priceless I ay, he had been right 
 there. Listen to it ! Was it not priceless ? A sort 
 of passion of pride surged up in him overpowering 
 all thought of himself. 
 
 Then there was a loud crack, a wheeze, a sudden 
 silence ; and the barrister stood up wiping his fore- 
 head, for he had worked hard. " That has done for 
 the old thing," he said with a laugh ; " but it was 
 past work anyhow, and I prefer a piano any day of 
 the week. Don't stand in the corner, Bahani. You 
 must learn to behave like an English lady now, and 
 there is nothing to be ashamed of in your husband, 
 I assure you." 
 
 Mai Kishnu and Radha looked at each other as if 
 
400 MUSIC HATH CHARMS 
 
 for support, and the vague affright and sheer surprise 
 of their faces made them once more sympathetic. 
 " It is a new workl, sister," whispered the one to the 
 other as they moved off respectively to their prayers 
 and their pickles, leaving the barrister making love 
 to liis bride over the prospect of the piano he was 
 going to give her. 
 
 But Punoo moved softly, blindly, over to his old 
 seat and set his feet to the pedals and his fingers to 
 the keys. But no sound came from them, not even 
 that poor travesty of Grod Save the Queen which had 
 once filled him with pride. And as he sat fingering 
 the dumb keys, idly, a dim content that it should be 
 so came into the old musician's soul. The swan-song 
 had been beautiful, but it had been a song of death. 
 He, after all, had. known the harmonium best. 
 
On the face of the Waters 
 
 FLORA ANNIE STEEL 
 
 Author of ^^ Miss Stuarfs Legacy^'' ^^ The Flozver of Forgiveness^* 
 ''Red Rozvajis,^^ " Tales from the Punjab^'' etc., etc. 
 
 (2mo. Cloth. $1.50 
 
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 lived through the mutiny will lay it down without a gasp of admiration, 
 and believe that the same emotion will be felt by thousands to whom 
 the scenes depicted are but lurid phantasmagoria." — 77/^ Spectator. 
 
 " Mrs. Steel has written a fine novel, whose scene is laid in the 
 world Mr. Kipling was the first to make real to us. . . . Books like 
 this are so rare that it is difficult to welcome them too warmly." — Pall 
 Mall Gazette. 
 
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 atic event in all our Empire's later history." — Daily Chronicle. 
 
 "There is no arrest in the march of her narrative ; there is no need- 
 less display of historical knowledge. No one knows India better than 
 Mrs. Steel." — Daily Telegraph. 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK 
 
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MISS STUART'S LEGACY 
 
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 FLORA ANNIE STEEL 
 
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 action and incident, well and naturally drawn characters, excellent 
 in sentiment, and with a good ending. Its interest begins with the 
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 touches all her stories with the hand of a master, and she has yet to 
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 at Work. 
 
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The Flower of Forgiveness 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 BY 
 
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RED ROWANS 
 
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 Evening Transcript. 
 
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 young readers' hearts. A real fascination possesses every page of 
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TALES OF THE PUNJAB 
 
 TOLD BY THE PEOPLE 
 
 BY 
 
 FLORA ANNIE STEEL 
 
 With Illustrations by J. Lockwood Kipling, CLE., and Notes by 
 R. C. Temple. 
 
 l6mo. Cloth, Gilt. $2.00 
 
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 down solely by word of mouth from one generation to another, could 
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IN THE TIDEWAY 
 
 BY 
 
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